Moondaughter's Promise
by The Moonlily
Summary: Between two great battles, a promise is made to Éomer of Rohan by a young and unusual woman in the Houses of Healing. But promises have two sides, and he may have his own to keep.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Moondaughter's Promise

**Rating: **T/M

**Pairings: **Éomer/Lothíriel

**Genre: **Romance/Drama

**Summary: **Between two great battles, a promise is made to Éomer of Rohan by a young and unusual woman in the Houses of Healing. But promises have two sides, and he may have his own to keep.

**Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

**Author's Note: **So, here is the first chapter of the story I have been working on for a while now! The idea came to me last summer, but some bits I have not figured out until recently. I have been dying to get to this story for a while now, and am pleased to be able to share the first chapter with you.

I believe this will be told entirely from Éomer's point of view and I must say, it's always a pleasure to get inside his head and see things through his eyes.

I hope you will enjoy the story, and if you got time, let me know what you think! Your comments are always helpful in developing the story and keeping the muse alive. :)

* * *

**Chapter 1**

After the battle, silence came.

It hung over the city like a fog, thick and heavy. The contrast to the earlier noise and chaos seemed hideously pronounced, as though the horror of fighting and slaughter had robbed the very earth and sky of their voices. The songs of Rohirrim had long since ceased, replaced by mute grief that could not tell the count of tears that had fallen and would still fall over those who had breathed their last on the fields of Pelennor.

The way through the city had been long and wearisome. Éomer son of Éomund had seen it before years ago when he had come here with his men to aid in some campaign. A great ruin it had seemed to him then; now the impression was even stronger. The Enemy's siege machines had hammered it and orcs had reached the lower levels. Here and there city's defenders were still putting out fires. Éomer did not envy those who would have to clean up the mess and salvage what they could of it.

Eventually, his feet had lead him to the Houses of Healing. There he had found a joy he had not imagined: Éowyn still lived. It felt like a lone flicker of light in one long, moonless night. There, back in the crimson fury, he had lost himself to madness when he had thought that he was now the only one left of his family. And yet somehow, after charging through the Enemy's lines like a raving madman, he was still unscathed.

But if the battle on the fields was now over, another still raged in the Houses of Healing. There it was not silent. More and more of the wounded were being brought from the fields, some only to die with stone on their backs rather than trampled grass. Moans and weeping never really ceased. Down the corridor, a young voice was crying in Rohirric for his mother.

Éowyn did not weep or moan. She lay in her bed, quiet and still, and her face was white as snow. Aragorn had come and gone, helping her as much as he could and at least restoring her to life. But neither he or Éomer had been able to summon the will to live back into her clouded, hopeless eyes.

And now he was sitting next to her, still in his armour, and feeling more helpless than ever. What was to be done? Usually, he could come up with _something. _Years of warfare and leadership had taught him a thing or two about thinking on his feet. Now he had nothing. Even his dearly beloved uncle was gone, resting in majesty before the throne of Gondor, and there was no one left he could ask for advice.

Truly, it would have been a relief to follow Théoden down that shadowy path, rather than to bear this hideous burden of living.

With a sigh he got up on his feet again. No, he could not surrender to despair now. His sister needed him. If he fell, who would lead Rohirrim? Éowyn could not guide them from this sickbed. Their people could not lose another leader so quickly after Théoden. And Gondor still had a need of the horses and spears of Rohan – or what remained of them. What a terrible duty it was to keep on going in a time like this, but duty it was, and that was something he understood. He could will himself into moving onward if he had to.

It occurred to him that he was thirsty. Horribly so, in fact; he had got only a few mouthfuls of water since getting in the Citadel and his own waterskin had been empty since before they had reached the battlefield. Other matters had been more pressing at the time, and some of battle's heat had still coursed through his veins, making him oblivious to everything else except his current goal. Now the sustaining rush had passed and Éomer felt as feeble as any man who has ridden in haste for many days and then fought the worst battle of his life.

The long corridor was quiet and dim. There were not any healers around and so he couldn't ask for directions. They had better things to do than to tend to some Rohir whose only ailment was thirst. But Éowyn might require water when she came to, and so he went on searching.

Éomer came to a wide chamber. He couldn't tell what its use was usually, but now it was full of makeshift beds, occupied by warriors in various states of injury. So many had matted blond hair, he noted grimly.

Suddenly, there seemed to come a lull in the moans and the wailing. The noises didn't completely cease, but grew quieter a little bit. He didn't know why this was, not until he saw her.

She moved slowly from one patient to another. She was arrayed in the grey, shapeless garb that all healers wore, yet it did not hide her feminine features. A bit taller than average, she moved with quiet ease. Around her head a scarf was tightly wrapped, but a single strand of dark hair had escaped from under it. She carried a bucket and a ladle, giving water to drink to those who could take it. Slowly she moved among them like a grey spirit of pity and mercy, speaking softly as she went. Whatever it was she said to these poor, unhappy souls, Éomer could only guess. Yet it seemed that her words and her brief touch somehow comforted them for a little while. Momentarily she looked up from where she was kneeling at the side of one pallet, and her eyes pierced him. She was too far and the light was too dim for him to tell the colour, but their brightness did not quail in this hour. And she looked at him with that same mercy and kindness as the rest of the wounded.

Forgetting about his thirst, Éomer turned around and walked back. He wasn't sure why he did. He just knew how lost and alone he felt, how dark was the road before him. While his body was not wounded, inside he carried such grief as he had never imagined before. It beat against his chest like an open wound and somehow he felt like she had seen right into the heart of it.

Éowyn's door was slightly ajar, but on entering he met a pair of healers there, and they bid him wait outside while they tended to the lady. So he returned to the corridor and leant his back against the wall. Not far to the right, Éothain was sleeping on a low bench, oblivious to the world. His sword and his dented helm lay forgotten on the floor. How he had been able to get comfortable enough with his armour on was a mystery, though perhaps the man was simply too exhausted to notice. Éomer had told him to go and find a proper bed somewhere, but the captain had stubbornly insisted on staying with him.

"_If you have any orders for me, Sire", _Éothain had uttered, being first to call him by that impossible title. The whole matter seemed like a mad, unpleasant dream.

As for the rest of them, Éomer was not certain where the city's defenders had found places for all his Riders. Elfhelm should be back on the field, leading the search for survivors and putting the remaining enemy forces out of their misery. The Prince Imrahil, shouldering the duties of the Steward now that Denethor was dead and Faramir indisposed, was probably still busy trying to make sense of the madness. Éomer supposed Gandalf was with the Prince, shining as a lone light in this long, long night. Aragorn was somewhere among the injured, doing for them what his king's hands could. Others – well, he was too tired to try and think of it.

Suddenly a voice spoke, startling him from his thoughts.

"Are you well, Lord? Do you need healing?" it asked, soft and low and melodious.

Éomer looked up. Before him stood the woman he had seen before walking among the injured. She had the looks of her people, their dark hair and sea-grey eyes. In some strange, distant way, she reminded him a bit of Boromir. Perhaps her ancestors had come out of the Great Sea as well, and not of the wild fields and mountains of Middle-earth.

"I'm fine. Just really tired", he said and was surprised to hear how raspy his voice sounded.

"Here, have something to drink", she offered and gave him the ladle – the last of the water in her bucket. He accepted with gratefully and drank the ladle empty in one go. Water tasted strange here, unlike cold and fresh springs of the Mark, but he was too parched to care.

"Thank you, mistress", Éomer thanked her as he offered the ladle back. She smiled faintly.

"Why don't you go and get some rest? It is late, and you have ridden far and fought hard", she offered, still speaking in that same gentle tone. If she had used it with the injured as well, he could well understand why they had for an instance felt peaceful. There was something incredibly calming about the way she spoke.

But as tempting as her suggestion was, he could not accept it at the moment. Éomer shook his head.

"I can't leave my sister."

It took her only a second to understand his meaning. Her eyes flitted to the now closed door and then back to him.

"Ah, I see. Sire, it's an honour to meet you", she said, curtsying like a noble lady would. Was she some lord's daughter, then? It was hard to imagine that any nobleman of Gondor would let his daughter remain here and face the siege. Perhaps she was a servant who had observed the highborn enough to know how to conduct herself.

All the same, he was surprised that the news had already reached here. He had not been a king for a full twenty-four hours, and yet this slip of a healer was already aware of what had passed in the chaos of battlefield!

"No need to use the title. I doubt it will be mine for very long", he said at length, having recovered from his astonishment.

"You do not expect to survive? Even though you are unscathed after the hell that broke loose before our walls?" she asked him. There was something in the way she spoke, like she was a long lost friend, newly returned to him. Normally he would find it difficult to talk so with a maiden of Gondor, mostly fearing he would accidentally say something uncouth. But perhaps this was a time where all pretences were stripped off, and people could just be themselves without any burden from their titles or even different customs.

"It does not seem likely. I know well enough Mundburg has never been assaulted by a greater army. We could defeat them only just barely, and at a grievous cost. And yet they are but a small part of the vast legions that the Enemy commands. No, I don't think we can weather this storm", Éomer said quietly. Long he had feared that the sword would fall in his time, and now it appeared he was right. It was the reason he had never married and started a family. Why bring children into such a world, if they could only expect to be slaughtered or live as slaves under the Shadow?

The maiden looked at him with depth and wisdom in her eyes that seemed to belong to a woman twice her age. If she was a healer by trade, then she had to know one or two grim facts about the world – and the sad state of it. Yet he saw no sign of despair.

She reached her hand to him. Her fingers were strong and slender as they pressed against his cheek like a cool balm. At any other time, it would have felt unusual. But her quiet, gentle manner made it the most natural thing that could happen right now. He felt calmer somehow and perhaps a little less burdened.

The maiden stood still. Her eyes had glazed over, like she had fallen in a waking dream and did not see him at all. Éomer grew worried. Was she overcome by the toil and horror of today? She too must have laboured hard since the siege began, and healers saw sights as gruesome as those on battlefield. Should he call for one of her companions?

His concern appeared to be needless. Suddenly her eyes cleared again and she looked straight at him. She tilted her head a little bit and her expression was curious. Almost it felt like she knew something about him he did not know himself.

"Don't be troubled, my lord, though you have travelled far and it seems now that you must go into the shadow. For I see the sun shining down on your path", she spoke, gentle and steadfast, and her words sounded like a promise.

Éomer stood still. His voice had failed him and so he just stared at this strange young healer. What made her speak those words so confidently?

Seeing he wasn't going to say anything, the maiden curtsied again and picked up her bucket.

"I beg your pardon, Sire. I must go and get some more water", she said, quiet and grave again.

"Of course", he uttered, having regained his voice.

"Be well, and may the light of Elbereth lead your way back home", she said, and then she turned away. She moved so quiet, he wondered if her feet touched the ground at all.

Éomer let out a sigh he had not noticed holding back. Whether or not the girl was right, he was sure he would soon know.

* * *

The ride to the Black Gate was the most dismal journey he had ever experienced. Even the desperate race to defend the White City could not compare. Éomer had ridden to many battles in his time, but never with such certainty of losing. What hope was there in challenging the Enemy at the very doorstep of his dark land? Aragorn and Gandalf said that there was some, and he trusted their wisdom more than his own. If this were the deed where the fate of the world would be decided, he would participate and do what he could to aid.

Even at the expense of his own life.

And yet, though the situation was bleak, he still remembered the words of the young woman. Often he thought of her during the ride, but most on the last night before they would reach the Black Land. Lying on his bedroll and gazing at the dim stars, he recalled that brief meeting in the Houses of Healing. Yes, one could argue she had just been trying to comfort him. On the other hand, she had spoken with such confidence, like she believed it truly.

He felt conflicted. A part of him wanted to believe it too, and yet his reason told him it could not be so. But still he could recall the touch of her hand against his cheek, the faith in her voice when she promised him sunlight… surely, no sun was given to anyone in the world where the Enemy ruled.

"Can't sleep?" Éothain's voice asked from nearby. He had spread his own bedroll close to his new king.

"No", Éomer said simply. He would have to be up before the dawn, and catching a couple hours of rest would be a good idea, but tonight his mind was too full.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" his friend wanted to know.

The young king said nothing at first. He rarely worried about battles beforehand, unless it be for the sake for his men. But death could come any day, and for his own part, he had long since decided it was useless to fear it. What would Éothain think if he spoke the matter truly? That he was not asleep because of a young woman whose name he didn't even know? It was likely the captain would only misunderstand.

"It's too late to worry now. Either we will die, or live. I have not yet thought beyond that point", he said, fixing his eyes on the Sickle of the Valar, which his mother had first shown him in the sky. She had said it was a sign of doom for one even darker and greater than the Enemy they were fighting now. If his might of old could be overthrown, then maybe the lieutenant of that ancient evil could be defeated, too?

Then again, this was not a time of great stories. They were come to something else. Heroes of Men were gone and Elves went over the sea, never to return to these lands of weeping. Last night by the campfire, Gimli had sang a song about Durin and the great Dwarven kingdom of old. In it was said that the world had grown grey. Was it worth saving?

Éomer recalled a pair of sea-grey eyes and decided that _yes, yes it was._

* * *

And the impossible happened.

He stood on that dusty battlefield and witnessed a sight that would never leave his memory: Orodruin belching out its fiery contents, a great shadow passing in the mighty wind, and the mindless, chaotic flight of orcs as the will of their lord ceased to drive them. Wonder and disbelief washed over him. That he should live to see this thing! Next to him, Éothain and his Riders were laughing and singing, as Eorlingas ever did. And then great weariness almost overcame him and he nearly fell on his knees. How many years had he spent fighting? How many nights had he thought and worried, dreading what new devilry the morrow would bring?

The war was over. And it was a true ending, not merely a truce that would eventually bring the Dark Lord back, greater and stronger than he had ever been. For the Ring was destroyed and the spirit of Sauron passed with it. Earth was won at last for the children of the world.

He suspected it would take some time to truly comprehend what it meant.

The Host of the West did not remain in that barren land. They removed back to the river Anduin, in a fair field of Cormallen, where spring had already come. There the wounded and the weary were brought to rest. On the first night, there was no feasting; the time of celebration would come later. That night the company just slept.

In his free moments, Éomer wandered in the green, sunny woods. It was a fair, good land, though some memory of Shadow still lingered. But he had hard time delighting in the beauty of this new spring. Truth be told, he felt lost. Like he had told Éothain, he had not planned this far. What was he supposed to do now? Why did he feel guilty for surviving? The world was in bloom and around him he saw the happy, incredulous faces of those who had not dared to dream this day would come. His guilt only grew when he felt like he couldn't truly share in their joy. And with it grew the sadness that his uncle and cousin were not here to see this day.

_Do you need healing? _she had asked him. What an astute question. His body was intact, but not all wounds could be seen.

She had told him not to be troubled. _I see the sun shining down on your path. _It was a hopeful thing to say, and turned out she was right at least about one thing. He had survived.

* * *

At long last, they began their journey back to the White City. Healed and restored, the Host of the West was now returning victorious. And there was more than just the joy of hard-won peace: Aragorn was going back to reclaim his birthright. Only a year before now, few people would have believed that there would be again a king on the throne of Gondor.

It was indeed a time of great tidings. But Éomer found his own thoughts were more preoccupied with a young healer. He was thinking if he should go and seek for her in the Houses of Healing. But then, what would he be saying to her? That she had been right? That he was thankful? He had not even asked her name. And he didn't know if she was one of the regular healers, or a woman of the city who had stayed behind to help with the wounded. Maybe she had already left and returned to wherever her home was.

He had not spoken of her to anyone, not even Éothain, who had snored not six feet away when he had met the girl. What could he say, in the end?

Perhaps it was just one of those chance meetings that sometimes occur in darkest of moments, moderately small and yet somehow more meaningful than one would realise at the time. And that was where its significance arose, in the very unique nature of it. To see her again would be to spoil the memory.

By the time he rode through the broken gates of Mundburg, Éomer had already made up his mind: he was not going to see her again.

So he thought at the time.

* * *

Éowyn had remained in the Houses of Healing even after she herself had grown hale again. Offers had been made to house her according to her rank, but she had refused them. Instead, she had kept to the small, bare chamber and the company of healers, with the exception of Faramir. When she was not with the Steward, she was studying under the guidance of Mundburg's most skilled healers.

Éomer had to admit he was surprised by this change in his sister. He had felt hurt when she had not come to meet him in the Fields of Cormallen, but now that he saw the new-found peace in her eyes and the eagerness she pursued her studies, he couldn't be angry with her. Not when he recalled her despair so clearly. She was going to leave him, go and live far away from the Riddermark, and yet… after everything, he owed it to her to let her go. Let her be happy.

Once again, Éomer began to doubt the young healer's words.

He hid his thoughts the best he could when he went to visit Éowyn in the Houses of Healing, only a day after the Host had returned. She showed him around, introducing him to grey-robed healers and Rohirrim who were being tended to, and taking him to eat lunch in the garden. It was one of the very few places in the city that did have a spot of green and growth. Éomer couldn't help but wonder how did anyone stand to live in the middle of so much stone. He would have to have a few strong words with Aragorn, and make sure his friend didn't mean to let this thing stand.

But as his sister lead him through corridors and passages, he was often gazing around himself, and studying intently the faces of each healer that they met. To his disappointment, _she _was not there. It was a surprising thing to feel, considering he had already decided not to look for her. But it was also alarming, as Éomer was not used to doubting himself in this manner.

It was foolish to think his sister wouldn't notice it, although she didn't address the matter until they were seated on a bench in the garden and she was opening the lunch basket they had been provided with at her request. She was producing small berry cakes, some cold meats and cheese along with freshly baked rolls, and even some last year's fruit. There was also a pitcher of crisp apple cider. Apparently, Faramir's favour was a thing that was taken seriously in the House of Healing and its kitchens.

"Is everything all right, brother? You keep looking around, like you have lost something", she wanted to know as she poured cider in blue earthenware cups.

Éomer did not reply at first. He stared at the plate he was balancing on his knee and tried to think of what to say.

"There was a young healer here after the battle before the walls. We talked for a little bit that night. I was wondering if she might still be around", he said at length and did not look at his sister.

"Why are you looking for her?" she asked him. Her tone did not imply she was assuming anything; she was just curious.

He shrugged and took a sip of the cider. Personally, he preferred ale, but it was not the worst brew he had tasted.

"Just to thank her. She had been tending to the wounded for Béma knows for how many hours, and yet she could still spare some words of encouragement to a man in the middle of bleakest moment of his life", Éomer answered. Was that the whole truth? Or, how could he assume it to be anything else?

The face of his sister grew serious. He knew that while her despair had passed, some guilt had come now to take its place. She thought she had almost driven him to death, for she had appeared as one of the slain; in red, reckless fury he had ridden to meet the hosts of the Enemy. But thanks to her, the Black Captain had been removed from the field. Some said that without Éowyn, he could still have turned the course of battle, even with the arrival of Aragorn and the Dúnedain – and perhaps weakened both Gondor and Rohan so that no challenge could be thrown at the Dark Lord to help Frodo and Sam on their last desperate trudge across the barren land of Mordor.

Éomer now reminded her of this. Perhaps it assuaged her a little, as her expression softened.

"I did not remove from my chamber on those first days, and I believe some of the helpers were dismissed from the Houses of Healing after the Host had departed. But it's possible I saw this healer and even spoke to her. Why don't you describe her to me, Éomer?" Éowyn suggested and sipped her drink.

With renewed hope, he proceeded to tell her all he could recall about the girl. Her grey eyes, so calm even in the middle of shadow, her soft and full mouth, and features that hinted at an exceptionally sound character…

Éowyn listened to him in silence. She tilted her head a little bit and cast him a keen, studious look.

"Brother, are you certain you wanted just to thank this girl? I have never heard you describe a woman in such loving detail", she noted wryly.

Well, he supposed it would sound quite unusual to his sister. But how to tell her of the maiden's strange, unforgettable words? Éomer wasn't certain Éowyn would understand the peculiar significance he had felt in that moment. You had to be there to _know._

"Maybe so", he said at length. "But you wouldn't wonder had you met her, too."

His sister raised an eyebrow but did not pursue that particular topic.

"Either way, I'm sorry to say I can't recall seeing her. It could be she had already left when I was allowed to begin to move. But you could ask the high warden of the Houses. He might know who she was", Éowyn suggested.

Éomer let out a sigh.

"No, perhaps you are right to wonder. Maybe my interest in her is uncommon and untoward. She might not even remember me… Béma knows there were a lot of distraught folk in the Houses that night", he said at last and refrained from shaking himself. What was he doing? Obsessing over some girl he had not spoken to for more than once, and whose name he didn't even know? She had to be long gone by now, and perhaps the memory of that night was as evil to her as to anyone else. Who would wish to remind themselves of it?

"For what it's worth", Éowyn said, reaching to touch his wrist gently, "I am glad you met her, and that she was able to encourage you. I hate to think how alone you felt."

"It's past", he said steadily, knowing what thought was now returning to her mind. "We must all look forward and move on."

So he told her at the time. And yet, when the celebrations were finished and Rohirrim took their leave of Gondor, it would have been a lie to say that Éomer King of the Mark did not think of the strange young woman he had met in the darkest night of his adult life.

_To be continued. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Days went by and became weeks. Then weeks turned into months, and high summer, golden and fair, arrived. The fields of Rohan had never been more green or as rich. Even with the devastation left behind by Saruman's devilry, many things bloomed in the land in such abundance that it was as though the very world still celebrated the passing of the Dark Lord.

It was a peculiar time. For past couple years, war had never wholly ceased in the Mark. True, sometimes weeks had gone by without a skirmish with orcs. But those quiet moments had been but lulls in a great storm, a chance to catch one's breath and prepare for the next onslaught. Éomer had known not to trust the silence. And every time, he had been right.

Now the storm was over. Patrols were still run and professional _éoreds _remained in a state of vigilance, for Éomer as well as his Marshals were too used to strife to trust the calm. Even then, there was quiet at the borders and peace in the fields. Grass began to grow where torches had burned the land. The river Isen flowed calmly, its stream clean once more, and Dunlendings kept the truce. Only a few stray orcs were spotted skulking in the wilderness, but they ran at the sight of Riders, disheartened now that there was no great master to command them.

It really _was _a peace.

A gleaming victory it had been, but the aftermath was not quite so. Burned homes, broken families, ravaged fields. Widows with wan faces and orphans, lean and hungry. Riders with broken bodies and shattered minds. Empty stables, scattered herds, orchards hacked down and put to torch in malicious glee. Many came to Edoras to beg for help in starting their lives anew. The cup of victory had a bitter aftertaste, and Éomer knew he would have to work hard and long to rebuild all that had been torn apart during the war. Himself, he had always regarded a warrior and soldier. Sword and spear and shield were his tools and he knew them well. Now he had to learn the trades of a politician and emissary, wielding a quill rather than his blade, and all without the help of his uncle.

He had never done anything more difficult.

And yet, as trying his days were in those first weeks and months, sometimes he could still hear that soft, comforting voice in the vaults of his mind: _I see the sun shining down on your path. _Was it foolish to cling to her words like this? Perhaps. On the other hand, in times of hardship, a man has to take hope and strength where he can.

Things eased a little when the first shipments from Gondor arrived. Grain and livestock were delivered to hold back famine in the coming winter. Aragorn had been generous in sending goods to aid the Rohirrim, though some said it was only what Stoningland owed as weregild for the Riders who had fallen in the great battles of south. But Éomer himself thought these were debts that could never be counted or repaid. If the Mark had not ridden to war, even now the darkness would reign in the western fields and there would be no more songs or hope of joy, only death and misery.

All the same, wounds began to close in the land, even if they did not yet heal.

He rode back to Mundburg in August. It did not promise a well-deserved break from the toils of ruling a war-trodden land, even if he were glad to meet his friends. For the task was to bring Théoden King home and bury him at last, so that he could have his long sleep close to his fathers. Though there was joy in the great escort that came to honour the fallen king, to Éomer it remained an ever-present weigh on his heart. His grief for the man who had raised him was not yet spent.

Still in those few days in Mundburg, his eyes wandered at times in crowds. He sought for a head that remained unbowed, a face untouched by toil, and eyes that shined calm and bright even in the moment of sorrow and shadow. She had to be there somewhere.

But he searched in vain. The maiden was gone.

Thankfully, there were friends around him. While Éomer was in good terms with all the company that would join Théoden King's funeral procession, most of his time he spent with Aragorn and Prince Imrahil and his sons, who were Mortal Men like himself. But Meriadoc too now had his lasting good favour, and an unlikely friendship had grown between him and Gimli Glóin's son. He'd never have expected such a thing, but the Dwarf's gruff humour suited his own, and it seemed that he enjoyed their verbal sparring and friendly insults as much as Éomer himself.

It was easy to get along with Imrahil and his kin. He was a fair-minded lord, well-spoken and quick to friendship. His sons each had inherited these qualities in at least some measure, even Amrothos who had none of his father's dignity. They had a sister, mentioned a couple of times in conversations. But she was not in Mundburg.

"Lothíriel did not travel with us from Dol Amroth. She prefers it there, for Father's court is much smaller and less crowded", Elphir said, soft and solemn, on the evening of his arrival. It was after the meal while they stood drinking some wine and exchanging tidings. It was a fair night and stars glittered brightly in the sky as they stood just outside the doors of Merethrond. The Citadel was well-lit with torches and braziers, granting a warm tone to the white walls that gave the city one of its many names.

"Or you could say she doesn't like the pomp here in Minas Tirith", Amrothos quipped for his part, leaning lazily against the door frame. His eyes strayed occasionally to follow the shapes of noble maidens that moved inside the Hall, but surprisingly he kept also following the conversation.

"Father was disappointed, of course. I think he wants to introduce you and Éowyn to everybody and their mothers in Dol Amroth", said Erchirion, smiling faintly.

Éomer smiled as politely as he could and said nothing. He was meeting all the people he needed and more, and he had no doubt he'd forget about at least half of them once he rode home. Not to mention, his Amrothian friends would probably think it quite peculiar that the chief part of his thoughts concerning females was not given to the fine ladies of noble Gondorian Houses, but a nameless young healer who could very well be a commoner.

But then, the Lady Lothíriel _was _a member of Imrahil's family, so an introduction was obvious and inevitable.

"Can you imagine? She was quite at home during the siege of Minas Tirith, but she says all these celebrations are tiring!" Amrothos said and rolled his eyes, like he couldn't think of anything more absurd.

"She was here during the battle?" Éomer asked in surprise. It was difficult to imagine that a lady of her standing would remain and face near certain peril – or that Imrahil would allow it.

The three brothers exchanged a wary look.

"Yes, she was. We were all here, trying to do our part – us on the Pelennor fields and she in the Houses of Healing", Elphir opted to speak at last. Éomer raised one eyebrow, intrigued that neither he or his brothers tried to explain the matter any further. On the other hand, what business of his was it?

"I might have met her at the time, then", he said at length. A curious thought flitted across his mind. _What if…_

But he swatted that idea quickly and took an ample sip of his wine. A lady so noble, no less than the daughter of Prince Imrahil, would have made herself known. Somehow he couldn't imagine Imrahil's daughter carrying water for the wounded. As for himself, he had not strayed far from Éowyn's chamber. There had been too many people in the Houses to keep count of, some just for a quick visit and others never to leave again.

"Well, yes. She did say she had seen your sister", Erchirion noted. Éowyn hadn't mentioned meeting the youngest member of the family, but he assumed she hadn't kept a record of all the people she had encountered during her time at the Houses of Healing. But he also recalled his sister had not identified the mysterious girl by his description. This, at least, confirmed that the healer had not been Lady Lothíriel.

"Why don't you come visit us some time? Father would love it. And it might do you well to get away from Rohan for a bit", Elphir offered suddenly. His brothers were nodding in appreciation. Amrothos even stood straighter and his eyes lit up, as though a hundred plans had abruptly come to life in his mind.

"I'm not opposed to the idea. But I understand the journey is long, and I don't expect to be able to make it at least this coming winter. It will be a difficult season in Rohan", Éomer said gravely. Granted, things were not as bad as they could have been, but private holidays would have to wait until the situation was truly more stable.

"Of course. You'll come when you can", Erchirion said, which earned agreeing hems from them all.

No more of the matter was spoken of at the time, and Éomer quickly forgot about the absent Lady Lothíriel. But another woman who was gone did visit his thoughts at times, and he wondered at the clarity of her memory in his mind.

When the body of his uncle was carried on a bier out of the city, and overwhelming grief made him feel like a thousand daggers were stabbing his heart, he could almost hear her voice: _I see the sun shining down on your path._

* * *

It was truly over after Théoden's burial.

Soon enough guests took their leave of Edoras and with that, it felt like the last breath of the Ring War had passed – even if its consequences would long impact the western lands. Uncle had his final rest and at his funeral feast, Éomer was formally named the eighteenth King of the Mark. There was no getting away from it now: he was truly a sovereign lord.

Some wonder and disbelief still clung to this thought, but more than that, there was a restlessness deep in his bones. He paced without realising he was doing so, it was hard to focus, and he kept waiting something bad to happen. It wasn't long until Éowyn told him to go and get some fresh air, enjoy the crisp autumn wind and sun on his face. Weren't there some eastern lords he had meant to pay a visit, anyway? He was getting on her nerves.

He decided to take her advice.

It felt good to be in the saddle again. Éomer tried to go out riding at least once every day, but it was usually for short periods – a few moments at dawn stolen just for himself. But this journey meant several nights under the sky, and when they made camp on the first evening, he realised how much he had missed this feeling and the familiar routine of patrols. Even Firefoot seemed to be relishing the opportunity to stretch his legs like in old times. As Éomer lay down on his bedroll, listening to the sounds of men and horses, and searched familiar constellations in heaven's field, he felt more like himself than ever since that damned war.

Which was a good thing when he reached the old fortified town of Healding. It was considered one of the chief shields of the capital against the northern marches and eastern fields, where only nomadic herders would roam without settling down anywhere for long; past couple years, even they had been wary of unguarded lands. Many of them had taken shelter near Healding. The lord of that part of the realm was named Eadwig and he was of an old line and shared some relatives with Éomer himself.

The young king was received warmly and he was glad to see that the locals appeared genuinely glad to have their liege-lord visiting. In some parts of the realm, in Westfold especially, he had sensed some scruples among the folk. Of old a rivalry existed between the West-Mark and the East-Mark – there were sayings along the line of "nothing good ever came east of Edoras", or jabs like "as witless as a Westfolder" – but he suspected it was also because Théodred Prince had been dearly loved by the people he had protected. Some saw it as a great injustice that he should die and a cousin from another branch of the House would take his rightful place. Éomer knew his own defenders were quick to point out his heritage as a descendant of Eorl from his both parents, but he tried not to involve himself in those conversations. He wanted to be a king for the whole people, not just squabbling factions.

Eadwig Lord of Healding was the most forthcoming among the townsfolk. He was tall and strong, though his active years as a Rider were long past. His long, honey-blond hair was in a thick braid that consisted of several smaller ones and his face had a weathered look of one who has spent much time in free winds of the Mark. Blue eyes peered keenly from under bushy eyebrows. Eadwig was dressed in wool and leather, good sturdy materials, and a round golden brooch, fashioned into a multitude of interlacing knots, glimmered on his chest. He and his men had defended Healding valiantly, so that even with the war and its repercussions the folk in these parts had not suffered too badly from orc attacks and the like.

This became quite clear as Eadwig proudly took him around the town, introducing him to the people, presenting this or that project, the new houses being built for the various refugees from borderlands who had come to seek shelter here, and the wealth stored in granaries after a prosperous summer. What Éomer did not realise at the moment was that this all was merely an introduction to something else. When he did, he felt like a fool. He still had a lot to learn.

Later in the same evening there was a feast in his honour at Eadwig's own hall. The same well-off air ruled there: furniture was made by expert hands and polished until it shined, the hangings were spotless and rich in colour, and household servants looked hale and glad. It appeared most of the town was present and all the benches were packed with people. The lord also made it clear his prosperity was not just for show, but served the visitors from Edoras with generous hand. It was hard not to feel flattered, which was how Éomer began to suspect there was something behind it.

Éomer had seat in Eadwig's own chair and the lord of the hall was right next to him. Their conversation was easy and pleasant as they spoke of next spring and whether it would be safe to let the herds graze in the grasslands of Eastemnet again. It had been unthinkable while orcs from Mordor and Isengard were at large. But if they meant to rebuild their herds once more, the rich grass of eastern marches would be very much needed.

The young king was listening to his host when he abruptly caught some movement at the corner of his eye. Then a soft, female voice spoke.

"My lord. Welcome to Healding", it said and he looked up to see a young woman standing before the lord's table. She was the image of Northern beauty, her golden hair falling freely on her shoulders, and her red dress emphasising the glow of her rosy skin. Her eyes were bright and blue, glimmering almost mischievously, which impression was somehow made stronger by the dusting of freckles across her small nose and cheeks. She was tall and her figure was ample, especially at the region of her bosom and her hips. Ten years ago, Éomer would immediately have forgotten everything in the world except her.

Béma, was he glad to have that decade behind his back now.

"My daughter, Guthild", Eadwig introduced the young woman. She bowed her head demurely as she offered a bronze chalice filled with mead straight to Éomer.

He couldn't quite refuse, even if the implications of such deed were clear for anybody to see. Indeed, it felt like the entire hall was watching. Suddenly the extensive tour of the town earlier today made a whole different kind of sense – as did the fact that Eadwig had invited the entire population of Healding to witness. Suppressing a groan, Éomer reached to take the chalice from the young lady.

"Pleasure to meet you, Guthild", he said politely. Just behind his right shoulder, he could almost feel Éothain sympathising with him.

"And you, Sire", she said and flashed him a beaming smile. She curtsied and turned away and he hated to wonder whether the sway of her hips as she slowly walked was calculated or not.

"My daughter has had many suitors for years now", Eadwig said nonchalantly, although his conversation was everything but. "I have refused them all. I'm inclined to think we both agree that the heiress of such prosperous town should not accept but the very best."

"Aye. A father wants to see his child wed well", Éomer said, trying not to sound very strained. "I can make queries in Edoras in your behalf, if you would like."

Admittedly it was not a very good diversion. In fact, he couldn't think of any device that would distract Eadwig from what clearly was a topic near to his heart and mind. The man resembled him a bit of a hound that has discovered a particularly juicy bone.

"You are most obliging, Sire. But if you'll allow such forward speak, I do wonder what are your plans for yourself? You must know that many of your people are concerned. Your predecessor and his first heir were both lost so quickly", Eadwig said and his blue eyes burned even keener than normally.

"I have not made any plans. I'm afraid this winter will be too busy for it, anyway. It's a question of great importance and I shall not give it any less than my full attention", Éomer stated, hoping that his voice relayed a proper sense of finality.

"Very good, my lord. One is glad to know you take the well-being of your people so seriously. The land has suffered greatly", Eadwig conceded. His tone was mild, but the burning of his eyes did not cease. "But even so, you must know that my family is at your service. I would be most honoured if my daughter were to be considered when the appropriate time comes. She's quite the accomplished young lady, the finest horsewoman you will find in Healding and learned in the lore of our people. She already runs my hall, now that her mother is no longer with us, and you can see for yourself that she does so very well."

"I shall keep it in mind, Eadwig", Éomer said reticently. He didn't mean to come across so and he almost bit his tongue. The man was only trying to look out for his daughter; it was no reason to be disrespectful. And he had been a king for less than a year. He couldn't afford to make enemies this soon.

"I hope that you do, Sire. A king does need a queen by his side. Many think Théoden's rule met such difficulties towards the end because his own hearth was so quiet and empty", Eadwig said and sipped his ale. Éomer made a non-committal sound, took a large mouthful of mead, and remarked on how delicious it was. Whether it was true that people thought so about his uncle, he couldn't say. Few of them would say it straight to his face, at any rate.

Be that as it may, he was fairly sure this was only the first of many, _many _times he was going to be questioned in the matter of marriage.

* * *

Little by little, things started to get better. The first days were the most difficult and the longest. But as autumn turned to winter, and no catastrophe befell the realm, Éomer began slowly to feel like this might pass eventually. Granted, there were minor crises to be dealt with, a few marauding orcs stealing supplies here and there and disputes over how the scarce goods should be distributed among the people, but solutions were found and general peace was kept. He rode often to visit his folk, even in autumn rains and winter cold, and never quite feeling warm or dry enough. But if he wasn't willing to put himself in line, how could he expect anybody else to do it?

Often he visited the fresh green mound covered by Simbelmynë that now stood in the second line near the gates of Edoras. He thought of the burial of his uncle and the days that spread longer and longer between this date and the one he had last spoken to the old man. How he missed Théoden! How much had been left unsaid and untaught! While he had somehow managed to prevent their land from immediately going to the orcs, there were still moments when he intensely yearned for the guidance of his uncle.

Éowyn had things to say about it, of course.

"Uncle wouldn't want you to keep wandering to his grave like some sort of a sleepwalker. I know that you miss him, and I do too! But he wouldn't want us to get stuck. We both need to look ahead", she told him more than once. Of course, her choice of words varied, and sometimes there were more of them, but the core message remained the same.

And she wasn't wrong. It _was _necessary to move on and learn to live again. It was just so much easier for her, because Éowyn had the certainty she wasn't travelling that path alone. And she was not the old Éowyn; something new and bright had grown out the cracks of her heart, and Éomer knew it was in good part because of Faramir. If he were brutally honest, he had to admit there were times when he envied the two so much that it felt like his guts were being twisted around. He wasn't proud to feel so, but what could he do when it seemed that everybody around him were picking up the threads of their lives and making something new out of it? How could he fight that ugly sensation creeping on his mind when the slow watches of night passed, and he kept turning in his bed, anxious for some peace? Yet he did not know even himself what it would take to discover that elusive thing. Perhaps he had lived too long in unrest and peril to truly tame this sense of longing. At times, he burned to see the strange woman from the Houses of Healing, shake her by shoulders and tell her how wrong she was about him.

But at least he would always have Rohan, he considered at times with varying levels of bitterness. It was rare for a king to have any personal bit of happiness, never mind the bliss of Aragorn and Arwen in their white tower. And _she _had promised him sunlight, but perhaps not repose.

So passed that first winter, and it felt longer than any such season ever had in his adult life. Most of it he spent buried in many labours, but at times in Meduseld when crowds were gathered for this or that occasion, Éomer half-heartedly studied the ladies present and tried to recall which one might be available – and what political implications he would be making if he chose this or that one. He was well aware that no matter how he chose, somebody would complain. Westfolders would expect him to extend his arm to them, for he was from the East-Mark himself and after the suffering of the western part of the realm, their spirits would be greatly lifted if new queen came from among them. On the other hand, the last Eorling-born queen, the consort of Fengel King, had been a lady of the West-Mark. She had been succeeded by Morwen Steelsheen of Lossarnarch in Gondor, and the Princess Elfhild had died before Théoden became king. Eastern lords had already dropped hints that it was high time they and their daughters most especially were remembered in Edoras. And like he had guessed, many others came after Eadwig, and though there was variance in how subtle they were, their intentions were very clear to the young king. Eadwig himself brought his daughter to Edoras for Yuletide and during that week, Éomer felt like whenever he turned, Guthild was there, smiling slightly and giving him every opportunity of courting her.

While this went on, Éomer felt increasingly like there was not a single part of his life left that was his own. As such, the invitation made by the sons of Imrahil grew in his mind and became more and more tempting, and though he knew the journey wasn't going to solve any of his troubles, at least it would give him some much-needed distance and time to think. So he hoped.

It wasn't long that he made his decision: once spring had come, and Éowyn and Faramir were married, he would travel to the city of Dol Amroth by the sea.

* * *

Once the uproar of the wedding had finally died, nearly a month after the guests had departed at the end of April, Éomer determined it was time.

This he also decided to tell Éothain one warm, sunny afternoon as they were returning from the training field and the two men took seat on the great stone steps leading up to Meduseld, waterskins in their hands. Éothain was one of his oldest friends; they were both of the stock of Aldburg and had been born in the same year. As children they had roamed and caused different sorts of mischief in their home town, and then entered training at the same time, both dreaming of great deeds in battle. Éothain had been there as Éomer raged his way through the stormy years of his youth and eventually witnessed him growing into the mantle of the Third Marshal. It only made sense that Éothain should become his captain, as Éomer trusted few men as truly.

"So, what is it you've got in your head now?" Éothain asked now and splashed his head with some water. He had rightly noticed that his king's mind was not quite in the training. A few new bruises bore witness to that. They may be friends, but in training ring Éothain gave no mercy to anybody.

"I was thinking of visiting Dol Amroth soon. Imrahil's sons asked about it again at Éowyn and Faramir's wedding", said the young king as he raked a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He glanced at his friend, "It would be a good time to go now. The worst seems to be over and there are no weddings to plan. I owe Aragorn a visit, anyway."

"But in truth you just want to take a holiday", Éothain said lightly.

"And what if I do?" Éomer said and leant back a little bit. "You were there for that madness. If it doesn't earn me a few weeks off, nothing will."

"Of course it does. Nobody thinks you didn't give your all, and more", his captain stated and sounded more serious. But then he punched Éomer's shoulder and resumed to the earlier tone, "You're wrong about weddings, though. There's always your own to plan."

Éomer snorted loudly and opened his waterskin. He was tempted to splash it over his friend, but he suppressed that thought. He took a long sip and poured some on the cup of his hand to wash his face.

"Not you too, Éothain. If I hear one more person saying the word, I shall go mad and run into the wild", he muttered glumly.

"What's the matter, though? You've been weirdly against it since the war ended. Don't say it's because you're a woman-hater in secret. We all know _that _is not the case", Éothain said, seemingly unsure whether he should approach this seriously or not.

"I'm not against anything – except maybe feeling like a piece of pork loin that is being appraised at the autumn market", said the young king and failed to hide his scowl.

"Ten years back, you would have thought it the best thing that ever happened to you", his friend pointed out.

"Ten years back I was an ass."

"One could say you still are."

"Well, then I'm just an older and more tired ass than I used to be", Éomer said and took another drink from his waterskin.

The captain looked at him curiously.

"What is it that you want, Éomer?" he asked in a low but keen voice. In this one question, there were a number of others that he didn't say out loud. What was he looking for when he could choose almost any young lady of the Mark? What restlessness kept his heart and mind so closed that he was preventing himself from moving on? Éothain had witnessed some offers close by and knew well that among them, there were some very good options. Why would none of them please the young king?

"... I don't know", Éomer replied at length, but the very moment those words left his mouth, he remembered a pair of sea-grey eyes. He wanted to shake himself for the sheer absurdity of it – and for letting the happiness of his sister and his friends fool him into thinking it was a rule, not an exception.

"Is it because you've already met somebody?" Éothain inquired, as though he had read his friend's thoughts.

"What makes you ask that?" Éomer asked back, directing a sharp gaze at the man next to him.

A sheepish look came to Éothain's good-natured face. He was not one for ruses or keeping secrets, and at once the young king could tell the captain knew more than he was letting on.

Narrowing his eyes, Éomer commanded, "Let's hear it, then."

"It's just Éowyn, you see. A few days before the wedding we were talking and she was telling me about this conversation you had with her after we rode back to Mundburg from Cormallen… she thought you might have met a lady at the House of Healing, and she wanted to know if I had seen anything. But as you well know, I snored away most of that night, which I also told her. But it got me wondering", Éothain confessed in embarrassment.

Éomer cast a look of one who has long been suffering to high heavens. It wasn't hard to guess what had initiated that particular conversation between his sister and the captain. He was only surprised that she had waited this long to badger Éothain about it. As happy as she was for her approaching wedding and marriage, she also worried about her brother. She wanted him to have all that she did, too – and not a few times during the winter, she had made thinly veiled suggestions about this or that lady. But as the time of her nuptials grew close, the whole matter had probably been closer than usual to her thoughts. She must have recalled the conversation back in Mundburg when he had so foolishly mentioned the healer, and so she had tried to find out if Éothain knew anything.

What a pair of schemers.

"Béma, she must have been desperate to try and involve you. I told her it was a five minute conversation and I never saw the girl again. So even if I were harbouring some misguided notion over chasing a Gondorian commoner – which I am not – there is very little chance that my path will ever cross hers again", he said firmly and drank some more. He rather wished it was hard liquor.

"All right, all right. No need to get angry. But you've been so withdrawn and lost in your thoughts whole last winter, and I feel like I hardly know what's going on in your head. I worry about you, lad", Éothain said, sounding unusually grave. His blue eyes were regarding Éomer keenly, but his bearded face had that look of support and loyalty that was well known to the young king.

"I'm sorry if I've made you feel like I don't trust you. It's just… all this has been a lot. It's hard to make sense of even to myself, let alone to others", Éomer said slowly and as he spoke, he made a general gesture before himself, encompassing the courtyard that remained busy in its everyday comings and goings, and the city beyond it. Seeing the faces of his people, he thought about what it was like to learn to be a king all by yourself, and how lonely and difficult it was when you had to rebuild yourself while rebuilding a kingdom, and meeting all the pleading eyes of those who depended on you. He also shuddered at the sheer fact of Éowyn leaving and how every day, he still thought about his uncle and Théodred and whether they would approve of his decisions or not… if he really had any right to sit on this throne, after all.

Éomer didn't say those things out loud, but he felt Éothain's hand on his forearm, and saw that same fierce constancy on the features of his friend. Such was the nature of their friendship that the captain knew all these unsaid things from half a word.

Éothain patted his arm and sat back again.

"So, when do you wish to leave? I should like to know when to make preparations", said the captain, speaking in a mild and jovial tone.

"You think it's a good idea to go, then?" Éomer asked half-audibly.

"Aye. You're right to say it's been a lot, this last year. And you deal with things I never thought I would have to advise you in, but maybe your new friends in Stoningland have an idea or two. Who knows? Maybe you'll meet your future wife and fall head over heels in love with her, too", Éothain replied and shrugged.

"That doesn't sound very likely", Éomer snorted as he got up on his feet and stretched. After almost thirty years of not submitting to such dramatic feelings, he was starting to think there was no such woman out there who might change his heart.

"Stranger things have happened. I'm sure Thengel King said that exact thing before he met Morwen Steelsheen", Éothain commented, undaunted by his king's doubtful notions.

Éomer decided the argument was not worth pursuing. And he still had plenty of work waiting for him, especially if this plan of travelling to Dol Amroth was to be realised.

"You focus on making ready for the road, and let me worry about my lovelife, Éothain. You don't see me giving marriage advice to you and Scýne, do you?" he quipped as he offered his hand to his friend and pulled him up.

"And I thank Béma for that every day. Toads know more about marriage than you do", Éothain shot back, his blue eyes glinting in amusement. No doubt he was glad to see his old friend bantering like they used to in days gone by. In fact, Éomer wasn't sure when had been the last time they had really talked like this.

Maybe Éothain had a point, and he really had been in some deep waters this last winter. But he was determined to rise to the surface again. Hopefully, his time in Dol Amroth among friends would show him the right path.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N:** Here is the new chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it.

This chapter covers an entire year, but I felt there was no particular reason to dwell on it more in detail. Still, I hope it gives you an idea of what Éomer is dealing with at the time and what may be waiting for him in Dol Amroth.

_Some background info:_

Béma is the name of th Vala Oromë, the Huntsman of the Valar, who loved dearly the woods of Middle-earth. He was said to have brought the ancestors of _mearas _over the sea. Rohirrim revered Béma in particular, but in my own stories I sometimes add Vána, his spouse, as an important patron of Rohan's people.

Weregild means essentially blood money, and it was used as compensation for the family of the slain in some early Medieval societies.

Stoningland was the name Rohirrim had for Gondor in their own tongue.

Fengel was the father of Thengel, who married Morwen of Lossarnarch in Gondor. Thengel was famously at odds with his father and he lived effectively in exile until his father's death. His son Théoden was born in Gondor, but the family moved to Rohan after Fengel's death. Théoden married Elfhild who bore him a son, but she died shortly after.

Thank you all for your reviews, favourites and follows! I am always glad to hear what you think about the story.

* * *

**fantasticferret - **Thank you! :)

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Glad you liked it! :)

**cuteutgirl04 - **Yes, he is still very much in the dark about her! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Guest - **Thanks!

**Tobiramamara - **Thank you very much!

**EStrunk - **Thank you! I am quite eager to show more of their interactions! And I admit I did enjoy that bit with Éowyn, too.

**Rho67 - **Thank you for your lovely words! It's always a bit of a challenge to step into the shoes of a man, but it's also rewarding in the end. And I do love writing Éomer, even if Lothíriel's POV is often more easy for me. I am glad to hear I have managed to give him such depth!

**WillowMist14 - **Thanks!

**Tibblets - **Glad you liked it!

**chloeafter - **Thank you!

**JennyVDM - **Well, I write and publish as fast as I can, but writing always takes its time and real life has its demands, too.

**Serni - **Hope you will enjoy the story!

**Guest - **Yes, I think it's most likely for him to be in that set of mind. Not only Éomer has gone through some heavy personal losses, I can't imagine it would be easy for him to learn to be a king in such a difficult time. But he strives to do his best in matters of duty.

**Jo - **Thank you! :)

**Mary07 - **Glad to hear it! I hope you will enjoy this one as well!

**Catspector - **Thank you for your kind words! I do try to make effort for the opening paragraphs. For me, they are often the very ones that determine if I will read the story or not. So it's important to catch the reader's attention and want to make them read more!

**Irgendwer - **Thank you! :)

**Mathde - **Thank you very much! Glad to hear you like my stories so well!

**Estel la Rodeuse - **Yeah, it's a very good setting for their first meeting. The whole idea of this chance encounter of kindred spirits in the middle of war and death, finding that one good and sweet thing in one another, feels very dear to me.

I hope you will enjoy the rest of the story!

**sploosh93 - **Thank you! You could say they've met already, but let's see how the official meeting goes!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Éomer was awake early on the morning of his departure. He had not slept very much, as the urge for road burned in his veins and filled his mind. A full week had passed since he had talked with Éothain, and each day had felt long as a lifetime as he thought of long days in saddle and nights under the stars. While the situation was stable enough in the kingdom and his Marshals would remain vigilant in his absence, he still wanted to make sure there wouldn't be too many fires for him to put down when he got back.

But after a restless night, he felt quite famished. It would be at least another hour before the kitchen servants began preparing breakfast, and so he decided to go and find some food to soothe the worst pangs in his stomach. To his surprise, kitchen wasn't completely empty.

Leofrun had served as the King's housekeeper for some fifteen years now. She had come to Meduseld around the same time as Éomer and Éowyn, then newly orphaned and taken in by their uncle. Leofrun had been one of the few adults Éomer had trusted at the time, though he couldn't say why it was so; perhaps it was because she had been new to the court, too. And she had always treated him gently, even when he acted like a wild, untameable colt. Nearly everybody else had told him things that turned out to be untruths – that his father would return soon, that Mother would recover and be herself again, and that things would be all right – but Leofrun had not tried to ease his grief and anger by telling him what he wanted to hear, only what was possible and true.

Leofrun was dressed as always in well-made gown of russet wool, with a white apron wrapped over it, and many little objects hanging from her belt. Her long, greying hair was in one thick braid that almost reached the small of her back. Though she was fond of complaining about how old she was getting, she still moved quickly and gracefully, and her weathered hands were both skilful and gentle. At the moment she looked to be trying to find something. She had already lit the great oven, which glowed warmly at the background.

"Good morning. What are you doing awake so early?" Éomer asked as he approached the woman.

She cast him a smile over her shoulder.

"Morning, laddie. Don't you know? I always get up early when you are riding out", she replied nonchalantly. He had hardly had time to digest this information when she was already gesturing at him impatiently. "Come and give a hand to an old woman, won't you? I need to reach that high shelf."

Éomer scoffed softly under his breath.

"You're not that old", he pointed out as he stepped closer and reached for a green earthenware pot she was pointing at, sitting on the top shelf of a cupboard.

"My dear lad, I look it and I feel it", Leofrun replied as she received the pot. With a smile, she asked, "Care to take tea with me?"

"With pleasure. Do you happen to have any food at hand? I'm starving", he said, casting a look around himself but knowing better than to go searching for something to eat while Leofrun was watching. She would trash him if he upset the order in her tidy, well-managed domain.

"Of course I do. Hold on a moment", she told him, gestured at a pair of low stools near the oven, and began to move around as energetically as ever. Éomer knew better than to offer his aid, and so he took seat by the oven.

Quickly she toasted some of yesterday's bread for them and found a bit of cheese as well. She gave a good helping of fresh butter and ham on his slice, but kept her own portion rather small. Leofrun noticed the look he gave her.

"You'll be in a saddle for many long hours, lad", she commented emphatically. Then she smiled, "I remember the appetite you had while growing up. I used to joke to Théoden that you would eat him out of house and stables too. But I suppose you put it to good use, seeing what formidable man you became. Just like your father."

There were few people who could speak to him in this warm, intimate manner with his approval. Leofrun was the chief of them, excluding Éowyn. Sometimes he wondered if this was how it would feel like to talk to his mother, if she lived. The thought was sad, and yet at the same time it ignited something fond in his chest.

"I suppose I was not an easy child to raise", he said thoughtfully as he accepted a mug of tea and the green clay plate. His stomach growled loudly at the smell of toasted bread.

"Certainly not. I think Théoden got a fair share of white hairs thanks to you! But the best, fiercest warhorses are not easily bred. Your uncle knew that and he loved you well enough to give it his best shot. I think he saw the makings of a great man in you from the start, if he could just tame that wildness of Éomund's line. And looking at you now, I think he did just that", Leofrun replied as she sat down opposite him.

Éomer let out a sigh.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure. I wish he was here. I wish I knew if I was doing the right thing. Making the right choices", he admitted. It was something he had said to very few people until now.

"Dear lad, do you think he knew any better? Ruling a kingdom is never easy, not even for the best of men. Your uncle was a wise man, but he too had his troubles. We both know it all too well", she told him and sipped her tea.

"Then what would you have me do?" he asked her, frowning as he spoke. Leofrun gave him a crooked smile.

"You would ask me for advice? I am just an old housekeeper, lad. All I can do for you is make sure your hearth is warm and welcoming", she told him gently and reached to squeeze his forearm.

He looked down at his toast, hunger all but forgotten.

"It's lonely work, Leofrun. Lonelier even than I expected", he said quietly.

"I know. It weighed heavily on Théoden, too. Sometimes I wondered whether his later years would have been easier, if he had somebody by his side", Leofrun said. Her tone was not allusive as one might have expected, but Éomer still looked up sharply.

"Not you, too", he said sharply and took a big bite of his toast, which he then chewed almost angrily.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't like the subject, and I understand why that is. You never liked to be told what to do. Forgive this old woman for her impudence. I would so dearly love to see some happiness in your life", she told him, and her voice was so warm and sincere that he couldn't be angry with her.

"Don't worry about it. I know you mean well", he relented and gave her a small smile.

She returned it, but then her expression became serious once more.

"Enjoy your trip to the Stoninglad, Sire. Forget about your troubles for a while and laugh with your friends. But please, give a thought or two to your homeland every once in a while, and remember that no matter how fierce and brave you are, there's only one of you in the world. I know life has not always treated you fairly, but the Mark has nobody but you", she said and her voice, usually so calm and collected, held something almost desperate in it.

And how could he blame her for it?

* * *

Fair weathers greeted the King and his Company as they rode south. The road was light and easy as they made their way on the Great West Road towards the City of Kings, and Riders were in a good mood at the prospect of a holiday. They sang, joked and laughed, and more often than not Éomer participated in these endeavours, feeling already unburdened and glad. No disturbances were met on the way, not even a single orc's footprint. In the villages they passed by things were quiet and peaceful. This strengthened his conviction it was indeed a good time for this journey.

In Mundburg Aragorn and Arwen hosted him and his Riders for a few days. Full of enthusiasm, the King of Gondor and Arnor took Éomer around the city, showing him all the many projects he and his council had started. As usual, Rohan's young kiong watched the faces of city's inhabitants, searching for a very particular pair of sea-grey eyes. A couple of times he even startled when he thought he had seen_ her,_ but then he would realise he was mistaken. He felt more than a little pathetic when he realised what he was doing, yet he could not help this stubborn habit. If Aragorn noticed anything odd about him, his friend didn't show it.

All the same, the atmosphere was different in the city and it no longer felt like some ancient ruin, more tomb than a dwelling of living people. They didn't talk politics, though. Either Aragorn had judged so by Éomer's letters, or Éothain had somehow warned the man, but it appeared he wasn't going to disrupt this so called holiday with matters of state. But those could not be neglected indefinitely, and Éomer decided they would get to business once he returned from Dol Amroth. He would have to stop in Mundburg anyway before the journey home.

As Emyn Arnen was not quite fit for entertaining guests, it was in Mundburg that he also met Éowyn and Faramir again, still in the bliss of their newly-wed state. He was rather surprised the pair could be bothered to leave their nest so soon, in progress though it was. Éowyn did occasionally notice her brother, though, and filled his ears with a multitude of stories about her new home. He promised to come see it soon.

Over the years, Éomer had participated a few campaigns in Gondor, but never very far south – and certainly not in the lands of Belfalas by the sea. So, as his company started for that southern road, he was curious as to what he would see. And what he came to witness were lush, green lands, rich with fields and orchards and woods. The climate grew milder than in his homeland, fit for growing goods that would never thrive in the biting winds of the Mark. Altogether the land of Gondor was good and fair and it was easy to see why it had once been a great kingdom. But like Mundburg, many of the towns his company passed by had fallen into disrepair and there were fewer people than the land could nurture. The long war with the Enemy had sapped the lifeblood of Gondor for many a year.

The roots were strong, though, and it was only a matter of time before the blessings and fruits of peace were collected.

As they approached the Bay of Belfalas, Éomer began to see more and denser settlements. It was a wealthy part of the kingdom, further away from the east than Mundburg and Lossarnarch and Lebennin, and vigilantly guarded by Imrahil's fleet of warships. Still, there were a few burned towns along the way, crumbled houses of blackened stone, but also a keen purpose of rebuilding them. Stories of pirates sailing from the city of Umbar beyond the sea came to his mind. Something quite unpleasant slithered down his spine when he thought of how severely all the lands of Middle-earth had been pressed on by enemies.

Then at last he and his Riders caught their first glimpse of the city of Dol Amroth. Proud it stood, facing the sea, and Imrahil's blue and silver banners flew high in the wind. Éomer had heard people calling this city the Jewel of Belfalas, and truly, it was just that. There it stood in the lap of glittering sea, fairer even than Mundburg the City of Kings, with slender towers, sweet gardens at every corner, and mighty walls that guarded both the city and the lands about it. In the harbour, he could see tall and proud ships, some meant for warfare and others for trading and transport. Elphir had told him that Dol Amroth had been built before Westernesse fell. Was this ancient city a glimpse of that fabled, long lost realm of Men?

Whether it was so or not, he was received there as a much expected friend. Guards of the city had spotted his company from afar and the gates were wide open for him. At the sides of the streets, people halted to watch the King and his Riders as they passed, shouting greetings of welcome.

Upon riding to the great courtyard of Imrahil's palace and seat of power, he saw he was being welcomed by the Prince himself and his three sons. Amrothos waved at him in excitement and all four men were smiling brightly. Éomer could only imagine how he and his company, his blond Riders on the top of great Northern warhorses, looked like against the white stone that had been carved and fashioned like it was alive. Still, stranger friends had been made during the War of the Ring than himself and the House of Dol Amroth.

"Welcome, Éomer King of Rohan! Walk freely into our home, and may your stay with us be as merry and memorable as ours was in Edoras!" Imrahil greeted him, arms spread in a cordial gesture and smiling as though nothing could please him better than this meeting.

"Thank you, Imrahil. It is good to be here", replied Éomer as he dismounted. He surveyed his surroundings, half in instinct as a seasoned warrior would: while horseback fighting was his strongest suit, he could tell this was not a stronghold you took easily, whether you came by land or by sea. The Amrothians had given much thought as to how make their city fair, but at the same time, they had taken care to protect that beauty. Riding in through the gates, he had noticed the strength of the walls, and now that he was inside, he saw the Swan Knights patrolling the broad walks above them. He imagined the great towers and warehouses held many cunning weapons and defences for siege warfare, and plenty of foodstuff to sustain those who defended this fortress.

Imrahil's sons came to greet him as well. Around him, his Riders were dismounting and giving up their horses to a legion of ready stable-hands. Guthlaf, his squire, had already taken Firefoot by reins and was explaining to a stable-hand that the King's stallion did not welcome the touch of a stranger. Éomer suppressed a smile. Most people would not describe Firefoot's temper so nicely.

"I trust the journey went well? No bumps on the road?" Imrahil asked and looked a bit like he might just dispatch a troop of Swan Knights in case his guest had in any way been bothered during his journey.

Éomer smiled and shook his head.

"It was long, hot and dusty. Otherwise, I have no complaints to report", he stated.

"You might have taken a ship from Harlond. It's much more pleasant to travel by the river", Erchirion pointed out, as might well be expected from a sea-mad mariner such as himself.

"Perhaps it is so, but neither I or my Riders were in the mood of training a bunch of spirited warhorses to endure ships. If you think Rohirrim are wary of boats, our mounts are doubly so", Éomer said. As if to emphasise his words, Firefoot was snorting loudly nearby.

"You and your beasts are truly a menace", Erchirion said, feigning indignation, though amusement glittered in his eyes. No doubt he was busy imagining a scene of utter mayhem – a lot of injured sailors and Riders, excess of damaged goods, and at least one ship sunk to the bottom of Anduin.

"Indeed, and may the armies of Southrons and Easterlings long remember it", Éothain put in from nearby, a bit too grim to be making such remarks in good humour. As far as Éomer could tell, his captain and Imrahil's second-oldest had some kind of a rivalry going on, but he had decided to stay out of it.

Imrahil decided to intervene then, perhaps deciding the conversation had taken a turn for the worse.

"Please, let us go inside. You must be weary after the journey. Dinner will be served in a couple of hours, but perhaps you'd like to bathe and rest a little bit before it?" he was fussing, and so started to herd his sons and their royal guest towards the palace as though a brood of unruly children. Éomer allowed himself to be lead into the great halls of stone that both reminded of Mundburg and yet were different from it. Éothain remained close by, seemingly trying to look like he was not overly impressed by his surroundings. There was a great hall, its high ceiling supported by pillars like mighty trees, and double staircase lead to the upper levels. Light streamed inside through tall windows and bathed the hall in golden daylight. All was bright and polished and here and there, the device of silver Swan-ship could be seen in hangings and tapestries. This was truly a different world.

He was taken straight to the guest rooms. There was a bedchamber, a private sitting room, and a bathing chamber. He quickly noticed there was also a balcony with a view to the sea. The rooms were furnished with pieces made of the same light, polished wood he had seen elsewhere in the palace. Curiously he examined some of the furniture; while the Amrothian tradition did not seem to be so passionately concerned with wood-carving as Rohirrim were, he saw that swans and ships were a common theme even in one's bedroom. The carpenter who had built these things had clearly been quite fascinated with the curve of a swan's neck and the idea of a ships riding the waves. Rich tapestries covered stone walls, showing scenes from the history of Dol Amroth and Gondor, and the same shades of blue and white were a recurring theme in all the fabrics he saw around himself, though they were often supported with greens, greys and silver. The air of the room was a strange but pleasant mixture of sea wind, beeswax, and some citrusy scent he couldn't place. It was all quite different to his home back in Rohan.

As soon as Éothain had his orders and his squire had helped Éomer to get out of his armour, he headed straight to the bathing chamber. He had taken a wash here and there on the way whenever it was possible, but a proper bath was still very much appreciated after the final long hours in the saddle.

The bathing chamber was small and warm and the tub massive enough for two people. Next to it on a delicate stand were a multitude of small vials and bottles, which he saw were oils and bathing salts upon closer inspection. There was a bar of soap that smelled like juniper. It was mild and inoffensive enough for his tastes. Still, he allowed himself a private grin as he thought what his Riders would say if he appeared before them smelling like some exotic southern perfume.

Guthlaf brought in more water and poured it slowly over his head to rinse off the lather. Éomer pressed the water off of his hair and got up on his feet again. He received a light, embroidered robe and a towel of fine, soft linen. Feeling refreshed, he made his way towards the bedchamber to look for a change of clothes.

He also dismissed Guthlaf once he had given orders to clean his armour and check on Firefoot. While he didn't doubt the skill of Imrahil's stable-hands, he knew well Firefoot could be troublesome, especially in an unfamiliar environment. When he promised his squire a night off, Guthlaf beamed. Most like, he and his friends already had plans for exploring the city and its entertainments. Éomer tried to warn the lad from squandering all his coin on the first night, but he wasn't sure the young man even heard his last bit of advice.

Somebody had provided him with a light repast while he had been bathing: light cakes, choice bits of delicate meats, fine cheese and some chilled white wine. He almost shook his head at the levels Imrahil was going in pampering the royal guest. Still, he did eat a little bit – it was hours since he had eaten anything and it was still some time before the supper.

He dressed in a green tunic and buck-skin breeches, dusted his boots, and tied back his still damp hair. Carrying a sword in this place would be making an unfortunate statement on how much he mistrusted his friends, but he still slipped his usual two daggers inside the hidden pockets in his boots. He would say it was because a warrior was always prepared even among allies. Éowyn would say he was paranoid.

Be that as it may, he had lived this long only because of said precautions, and while he didn't expect to be ambushed in Imrahil's dining hall, it was better to be safe than sorry.

When he was ready, some kind of a butler lead him to what looked to be a private drawing room. It was rather similar to his own chambers as far as themes and colours went. He felt a little bit like at some point in history, one of Imrahil's ancestors had decided how their home should look like, and not a thing had been changed since. Certainly it lent the place an air of agelessness. As a young Marshal, he doubted he would have known how to conduct himself, or whether he was supposed to touch anything or not. Thankfully he now had some experience in that regard. Not to mention, the way Amrothos was slumped in a chair encouraged a perfectly informal attitude.

Imrahil himself poured them drinks, and for a while the company was engaged in light conversation about Éomer's journey from Mundburg. Then a servant came to announce that the dinner was served, and the Prince of Dol Amroth lead the way to a long dining hall. A great table was there in the middle, with room enough a dozen people, but only one end of it had been set.

Food was rich and delicious. There was creamy soup, fish prepared in several different ways, vegetables cooked in butter and fresh herbs, three kinds of pies, and finally an assortment of sweetmeats and honeyed almonds. All this was served with white wine that came from Imrahil's own vineyards. After tightening his belt all winter, this was a proper feast in Éomer's eyes.

As they ate, they spoke of the events of past spring and winter. The Amrothians had much to tell. Imrahil often travelled to Mundburg to participate in Aragorn's council, for he remained the new king's trusted advisor. Elphir helped him where he could, shouldering the duties of the Prince of Dol Amroth when Imrahil himself was away.

"Suits him well, at any rate; he will inherit this carnival one day", Amrothos put in, gestured around himself, and grinned at his eldest brother. Elphir met the glance with infinite patience.

Meanwhile, Erchirion was training the new Swan Knights and commanding a warship of his own. Amrothos sometimes took part in the former task, but he was also often running errands for Aragorn, who was eager to get to know even the furthest corners of his new kingdom.

"Sounds like he keeps you all busy", Éomer commented, halfway through his salmon fillet.

"Indeed he does. Sometimes I wonder where that man gets his vigour", Imrahil said with a slight shake of his head. "Lothíriel complains at times how rarely we get together these days."

At this point, Éomer had heard his friends mention her so many times, it felt like she already was a whole person inside his head, even though he had not met her. He would have expected her to join the party tonight, but she remained absent. Mostly out of politeness but also of curiosity, he noted, "Is she at home? I wondered if I was going to meet her while I'm your guest."

"She and my sister the Lady Ivriniel have been staying at our family's villa inland. She should return any day now, though, so I'm sure we'll have a chance to introduce her to you", Imrahil answered, pouring some more wine to his own glass and those near to his hand. He had dismissed the table servants to allow them some peace and privacy.

"Lothíriel should have been here for your arrival, but I'm afraid she follows nobody's schedule but her own", Elphir noted and lifted his glass. Erchirion snorted out loud.

"Much like Amrothos", he commented and shot a jovial smile at the youngest of three brothers.

"Is she like him, then?" Éomer inquired. What a fearsome thought. A woman with Amrothos' temper and manners would surely be a menace.

"Not really. My daughter is only like herself. But you will see for yourself once she joins us", Imrahil replied. For a moment, there was a faraway look in his eyes, and then he ventured to ask whether Éomer had visited Emyn Arnen on his way.

The name of Lady Lothíriel was not mentioned again during the dinner, and soon enough Éomer forgot about the elusive woman once more. Wine and easy talk with friends put his mind to a light, relaxed mood. The everyday troubles of Rohan truly felt faraway; it would not be difficult to follow Leofrun's advice if every night was going to be like this.

And if he went home from his holiday with new vigour and perspective, then he could truly call this trip a success.

* * *

Next morning Éomer slept late. It was a rare enough occasion to be noted; of his adult life, he could name only a few times he had stayed abed after sunrise. Even if there was nothing urgent for him to attend to, some deep-seated instinct would stir him awake early – thanks to the many morning drills he had hated as a young Rider in training.

Still, it was a holiday, so he couldn't feel too guilty about allowing himself some leisure. Guthlaf seemingly appreciated it as well, puffy-eyed and pale as he was from a night of merrymaking. But as ever, the lad attended his lord without a complaint, and Éomer could hardly blame his squire for being a young man in a beautiful southern city.

Imrahil and Elphir were busy with some affairs of the fiefdom, but Erchirion and Amrothos shared breakfast with him. They also agreed to accompany him to the city and give him a tour, like any proper foreigner. It was entertaining, he had to admit it. He had never had a chance to travel outside the Mark, not beyond a few trips to Mundburg to lend Rohan's aid to Gondor. However, those journeys had not been made for the sake of amusement. His _éored_ had always stayed close together, focused on doing their duty and then going home as soon as possible.

So it was true that he was curious about seeing Dol Amroth just for the pleasure of it. As soon as they had finished their breakfast, they headed out. Éothain and a few Riders came along, but their presence was mostly for formality's sake. Arrayed in their strange, foreign gear, they were as much a curiosity for the locals as the city was for the Rohirrim. A few, wide-eyed children even followed after them for some time.

Erchirion and Amrothos took their task very seriously. They showed him around near the palace, introducing sites of famous events in the city's history, and shared an endless number of anecdotes from their own adventures in the city. They took him to the docks to get a closer look on the famed ships of Dol Amroth. One or two taverns were visited to sample the local beverages, which inspired a heated conservation and comparison on both countries' skill in the arts of brewing and distillery.

They visited the markets as well, a great square that seemed to hold every sort of goods that a person could dream of purchasing. All sorts of fabrics from Rohirric wool to exotic silks, Northern pelts and furs, spices from Southron lands, tools of every kind made by various blacksmiths, small knick-knacks from buttons to toys and small pretty objects that seemed to serve no other purpose than pleasing the eye, perfumes and soaps, jewellery that varied from a few coloured glass beads to shining precious stones and pearls, and foods of so many different kinds that the very air was a cacophony of smells. Baked goods, vegetables of early spring, delicacies of rustic sort but also others meant for an acquired taste, and sea creatures of too many kinds to keep track off filled the stalls. Éomer saw fruits he had not never even heard of and he forgot what they were called almost as soon as Amrothos had pointed them out. Most had no name in the tongue of Eorlingas.

He had no particular need of anything for himself, though he did buy a few bits of local foods sold by street vendors. For Leofrun he bought a small assortment of spices, a silver necklace in the form of two swans taking flight, and a bar of soap that smelt like lavender. It was not much, but the housekeeper would probably refuse his gifts if she thought they were too ostentatious or expensive.

It was all a bit overwhelming, this onslaught of new things and sights. So they decided to get back to the castle and continue the tour some other day.

After they had returned to the palace and had late lunch, Amrothos invited him to a sparring session at the training grounds. Éomer readily agreed.

While these occupations were pleasant and relaxed, there remained certain duties that could not be avoided. The same evening, Imrahil was hosting a banquet in his honour and all the smaller nobles of the Prince's court would be attending. Éomer did not particularly enjoy such formalities, but he knew it couldn't be avoided, and who knew? He might even enjoy himself, as Éothain insisted. The young king could easily imagine the secret hopes his captain had for occasions of this kind: maybe he would finally meet a lady that made him forget about the nameless young woman in the Houses of Healing.

Whether he would enjoy the banquet, or meet such a woman, Éomer kept his comments to himself and prepared for the event. He bathed again, trimmed his beard a little bit, and picked a soft green tunic which was, with its intricate golden embroideries and the beautiful border at the hem, one of his better ones. He didn't recall packing it but he suspected Leofrun had something to do with the matter. He did not have his crown, but appearing in that kind of gear would be pretentious. He would not have difficulty standing out in the crowd anyway.

He was surprised at the amount of people that showed up in the end. It looked like the Hall of Feasts was full of guests when he arrived with his own party; only the seats reserved for him and his Riders were still free. Yet perhaps the news of his trip had travelled further than he had thought, and in any case a visit by a foreign king was no common occurrence in these parts. Éomer knew Théoden had once visited Dol Amroth, but it was over twenty years ago. It was practically ancient history.

At the centre of it all Imrahil beamed like a man whose all personal wishes have come true. He was as gracious a host in public as he was in private, offering the seat of honour to Éomer, and speaking many fair words in his praise. His court spared no cheers or applauds. A certain degree of curiosity was to be felt in the air, but it had a good-natured quality to it. Only a handful of these people had been to Rohan; the wide free lands and the tall horselords were but a far-off tale for the most of them.

Then the banquet started proper, and the great hall was filled with the sounds of soft music, many voices speaking, and dishes being handled. Food was as excellent as last night, but Éomer was more interested studying the faces of guests, or talking with his immediate neighbours. Imrahil was to his left but on the right side sat a silver-haired man named Lord Acharion, who was one of the Prince's chief lords and the Admiral of the Fleet.

He had served on Amrothian warships his whole life and taken part in some of the most famous sea battles of his time – practical legends in this part of the world, though only a few rumours had reached Rohan. But Éomer was glad to listen to the old mariner's tales, who shared them generously with him. While one of them had spent his life at sea and the other on vast grasslands, there was the unspoken understanding of professional warriors between him and the old admiral.

Halfway through the banquet a servant appeared to Imrahil's side. He whispered in the Prince's ear for a moment before bowing and retreating again. Éomer expected it was some minor news on this or that running matter, but as soon as the servant had left, he turned towards his Rohirric guest with a faint smile.

"I just got word my daughter has returned. She won't be joining us tonight, though – she says she's tired from the journey. I suspect it's more a case of not caring for this gathering too much", he explained to his friend.

"She does seem to avoid the social events", Éomer commented. One would expect that a lady of her standing, with connections even to the King of Gondor himself, would not be so elusive.

"You think her some kind of a recluse? That is not really the case", Imrahil said and let out a small laugh. "But I do admit my daughter is not what you might expect. It is said that a strange strain runs in our line, thanks to our legendary foremother, Mithrellas. If anybody in our family has it, Lothíriel surely does."

Éomer was familiar with the tale of the Elven ancestress of the House of Dol Amroth, but he did not understand what Imrahil meant. The Prince and his sons did not seem particularly strange to him. Still, he decided not to ask for a clarification. It wouldn't be tactful, and anyway he would meet the lady soon enough. Yet privately he had to admit his curiosity was growing.

All in all, it was not the worst banquet he had participated. He had pleasant conversations both with Imrahil and Lord Acharon, he wasn't asked about his marriage plans more than twice, and his Riders were all on their best behaviour. Himself, he drank more wine than he had intended, but still managed to keep a grip and not act like a fool.

After the banquet he made his way towards his chambers. Éothain was with him, because they were both in a merry mood and had quietly agreed to get one more drink before bed.

However, both had some trouble telling which way they should go. Even if they had been perfectly sober, they would have found the palace a challenge for their sense of direction. There were so many stairs going up and down, countless long hallways that sometimes looked so similar that one had hard time telling them apart, and smaller corridors that served less as a short cut to a confused Rohir and more of a way to get utterly lost. Still, they tried to appear as they knew where they were going – and probably failed spectacularly.

At last after they had wandered a while in what they believed was the south wing, Éomer thought he had found the way to his rooms, and was leading the way, while Éothain followed suit and was amusing mostly himself by doing a poor impersonation of his liege-lord.

_"... trust me, Éothain, I know the way, how hard can it be to find your own room..."_ he was ranting and occasionally guffawing in laughter. Éomer paid him no heed. Maybe he should have invited Amrothos to join them – he would know the way in his own home. On the other hand, in that case they might stay up drinking until dawn.

It was then he saw movement at the far end of the long hallway they had just entered. It was a woman, walking quietly away. He could only see her back, raven hair spilling in waves down her silver-grey robe, but the way she moved... there was something that made his brain itch. He felt like he knew her.

Instinct told him to call after her, even if he didn't know who she was. But he did not – he merely stood there staring after her while Éothain was still going through his nonsense. The moment passed. The unknown woman opened a door and disappeared.

At last Éomer got himself moving again.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, although he knew it was too late. She couldn't have heard him. All the same, he was now hurrying the same way he had seen her go.

"Éomer! Where are you going?" Éothain hollered after him, but the young king paid no heed to his captain. Éomer could hear the man cursing and then hastily following.

He got to the door quickly with his long, swift stride. Even if it was somebody's private chamber behind that door, he wouldn't have cared. However, he discovered a round staircase, spiralling up and down. Which way had she gone? It was now his turn to curse. He could not hear any sounds in either directions – the woman was going on her way like a ghost. Would she hear him if he yelled after her now? Would she even respond?

"Éomer, what's going on?" Éothain asked, having caught up at this point. But the younger of the two Rohirrim only grunted in response and on an impulse, chose to go down the stairs in search of her. Éothain groaned, but followed suit nonetheless.

They more or less burst into the corridor one level down. Nobody was there, except a pair of surprised guards, who startled and grabbed their weapons before realising who had caused the disturbance.

"Your Grace?" asked one of them warily as Éomer wildly searched the space with his eyes, as though she might be hiding behind a tapestry and would leap forward any moment now.

At the same time, Éothain was growing more impatient.

"What are you looking for?" he wanted to know insistently.

The sudden wave of energy that had sent Éomer looking for the mysterious woman now fell flat. She was long gone and it was useless to try and find her in this confusing maze of stairs and corridors.

"I thought I saw…" he muttered, but his voice trailed off when he realised he didn't know _what _he had thought. He shook his head, "Never mind. It was a false alarm."

Éothain did not look happy, but perhaps he decided his king was more drunk than he had thought. He grunted and cast a look at the bewildered guard.

"All is quite well, soldier. Can you point us to the direction of guest rooms?" he inquired pleasantly.

"Very well, my lord", answered the guard, though he and his companion shared a suspicious glance.

Five minutes later, the two Rohirrim were again on their way to Éomer's rooms, and this time with a better idea of where to find them. But while Éothain asked no questions about his sudden outburst, the mystery of the woman and why she had seemed so familiar would not leave Éomer alone even as he finally laid himself to rest that night.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you liked this new chapter!

Originally I meant to write more plot in this chapter, but then it turned out more of a matter of setting the scene, and I got a bit too excited about thinking about Dol Amroth. Still, I think the asked-for reunion should not be far off now!

As ever, it's very entertaining to be inside Éomer's head. I do hope it was enjoyable for you as well.

Here's again some background info:

Dol Amroth was indeed founded before the fall of Númenor. The area was settled during the Second Age, but the line of Prince Imrahil was established in the Third Age by Imrazôr and Mithrellas, who was said to be an Elven maid of Lórien.

Númenor in Common Speech (or Westron) is called Westernesse.

Harlond is the port near Minas Tirith. It was the centre of traffic by ships from further down Anduin and I imagine ships from Dol Amroth and other coastal settlements would dock there.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo -** Thanks! Yes, a lot of people are very much up in his business, so this holiday does come to a need!

**Serni - **Thank you!

**Susnsmsh - **Glad to hear it! :)

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Thanks! I do love the man, so it's good to hear I am doing him justice.

**Catspector - **Indeed, the poor man has so much on his plate! But I imagine it would be so for him at this time, when so many things are changing both in his own life and in Rohan. But the woman he met in the Houses of Healing remains a bright point for him.

**EStrunk - **I've got to admit, it's also fun to write him being in that kind of mood. But indeed, she's never far from his thoughts even now!

**JennyVDM - **Hold on a little while longer! ;)

**PilotDante - **Hope you liked this chapter, even without the reunion!

**Guest - **Well, we're in Dol Amroth now, so maybe they'll meet again soon!

**April2016 - **Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it!

**sai19 -** Oh, I just hate it when that happens! But I'm glad you have found this story now. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Éomer had to admit it: the sea was as beautiful as it was strange. This was only his third day in Dol Amroth, but he had already noticed that the sea never looked the same. It was in constant movement and its colour shifted in many subtle tones. Its voice was an ever-present hum behind all other sounds – perhaps it was this endless song that so called to the Elves. Now he watched how the morning's light danced on the waves, the push and pull of the tide against the shore, and the very brightness of the sky in this fine early summer's day. Still, he was happy to keep his distance and admire it from afar.

Amrothos, ever helpful in all works of mischief, had quickly agreed to distract Éothain. So Éomer had been able to slip away from breakfast, go to the stables, and take Firefoot out for a ride on the beach. It was not wise to let the spirited stallion sit still for too long and his Rider was equally in the need for an outing. Not to mention, after past few days' hubbub Éomer dearly wished for a peaceful moment.

The young king let Firefoot set the pace, and so they flew over the white sand, both taking delight in the speed and the sense of freedom it gave. Wind was in his hair but the air was warm and pleasant, and in sheer joy he let the reins drop from his hands; he knew he would not fall, so he spread his arms to the wind and laughed with such abandon as was so rare for him these days.

But soon enough he saw some cliffs rising ahead. The rise of them was gentle and low at first, but then they began to climb high and far, and he thought one could see the entire city from the top of them. Small bushes grew on the cliffs along with numberless other things. His curiosity was piqued. He had some time still before Éothain really became worried, so he might as well take this chance and explore a bit.

He left Firefoot down on the beach, knowing the stallion would not wander far. And if any horse thieves happened to be close by and get ideas, they would quickly realise they really did not want anything to do with this hell-beast.

Éomer began to climb the rocky slope. He moved without any haste, simply enjoying the fair morning and paying close care to all the small things he saw around himself. Almost it felt like he was the first Man to explore these cliffs at the Dawn of Days, seeing all things new and strange and delightful, and giving them names in whatever ancient tongue the first mortal Men had spoken. Many plants grew here that he did not recognise, thriving in the nearness of the sea and mild climate. He thought of his sister and what she might say, were she with him now. Certainly, he imagined there was a lot she could learn here, what with her newfound interest in green things of the earth.

Momentarily he halted to look around himself and to the sea. In the distance he could spot a few white sails, though he couldn't say if they were departing or returning. It was an early morning still, but the sun was climbing higher. He breathed in the salty air and momentarily closed his eyes. There was a strange feeling on him, of both relishing the solitude and wishing for company at the same time. A most curious sort of longing, he thought, and wondered if the sea was speaking to him after all.

He opened his eyes and turned, meaning to continue his climb. However as he raised his eyes, he saw that he was not alone.

There, some fifteen feet above him, stood a woman. She was dressed simply in a light, loose dress he had seen some of the women in the city wearing. It was sleeveless and bared half of her shins and slender ankles. Her shoes were sturdy, sensible kind – good for difficult terrain such as this. The dress was tied tight at waist with a long, colourful ribbon, on which her embroidered lady's purse was fastened. On her arm she carried a small basket.

He paid notice to her array only for a moment. For then his eyes fixed on her face and he felt like a jolt of something electric went through him – the start of recognition. _There she was. _Those bright grey eyes he would know anywhere, even though he had only seen them once. Even then, he was surprised to realise he had not remembered their depth, or how her eyebrows and eyes together gave her features a serious expression. And yet Éomer thought that the grave impression would vanish and be replaced by whatever mood would be reflected by those clear, thoughtful eyes. Her raven hair was pulled back from her face and it fell down one shoulder in a thick, messy braid, and her full, pink mouth was curved in the faintest of smiles.

He almost gasped out loud. How many times had he thought of this woman, and then reminded himself of how unlikely it was he would ever see her again? Yet here she stood in the flesh, staring back at him quietly, and showing not the smallest bit of the surprise he felt. Bizarrely he wondered if she had expected to see him.

"It's you", he blurted out at last, not even thinking of greeting her properly or apologising for staring at her like some kind of a dreadful brute who has never seen a woman before.

Her smile grew and a glimmer ignited in her eyes. He had been right: she did not look solemn at all anymore.

"It's me", she agreed pleasantly. He shook himself, feeling like an idiot. All this time he had spent wondering about her, and the unlikely moment they met once more, _that _was all he could say?

"Forgive me. I hadn't expected to meet anyone here. Least of all you", he said and was glad to hear his voice sounding more collected.

Her smile widened and he thought she looked like she was enjoying some kind of a private joke.

"We were always bound to meet again, Sire", she replied nonchalantly, puzzling him even further.

"Indeed?" he asked, hoping she would somehow explain, because there was nothing about this that he understood.

"I beg your pardon, Sire. I am being quite rude", she said and lightly descended so that they were standing face to face. The moment she moved, he realised she was the woman he had seen last night, walking away and then vanishing into the staircase. _Of course. _It made perfect sense, and it explained his own seemingly absurd reaction at the time. By some instinct he had _known _it was her, the woman who had so troubled him over the course of past year, making him so desperate to catch her and finally discover who she was.

Yet though she was arrayed as any Amrothian woman and wandering these cliffs all alone, she still curtsied with all the grace of a noble lady. The next words from her mouth explained how that was possible.

"Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, at your service. I am pleased to meet you."

Éomer felt like he might just fall down the cliff from sheer amazement. So, not only was the mysterious woman he had frequently obsessed over since last year here in Dol Amroth, but she was also none other than the daughter of Prince Imrahil himself? His head felt like bursting with new information, and bits and pieces of what he knew about her were falling apart and forming a picture that was against all his expectations.

"Lothíriel of Dol Amroth", he repeated slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm simply in awe at my own idiocy and blindness. I never realised..."

And he thought back to that night in the Houses of Healing, and if she had given some sign of who she was. But he could recall no such thing. She had simply passed in and out of his life for that brief moment.

"No need to be, my lord. How could you know who I was? I often keep to myself, and it didn't seem like the place or time for introductions", she said, shrugging slightly.

"I didn't know you are a healer", he said at length, trying to get a grip.

She shook her head and smiled.

"Actually, I'm not a healer. What I am is a student of herb-lore. Certainly it is a mighty ally of the healing arts, and I do have dealings with the master healers of the city, but my interest goes far beyond that", she explained. Then she lifted her basket and added, "Just before, I was collecting seaweed on the shore. The poor of the city sometimes use it as food, but I'm trying to find out if it can be used in other ways as well."

Éomer hardly knew what to say. He was still too much in the shock of discovering this woman again, and the way she spoke and looked at him… even with the basket on her arm, he had hard time imagining the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth roaming the seaside in search of some slimy bit of weeds. He recalled Imrahil saying that his daughter was not what you might expect. Now he understood what his friend had meant by it.

He took a deep breath and regarded her keenly. There was this urge to reach his hand to touch her, just to make sure she was real and this was not some kind of a dream. It made no sense, it never had, the way he kept returning to her in his thoughts. They had only spoken for a few moments before she had left him again. She would think him odd for hanging on to it. And yet he felt the burning need to tell her how much and often he had thought of her.

"I am glad to meet you again, my lady. I confess that our meeting in the Houses of Healing has often been in my thoughts. I regretted not asking your name at the time", he said at length. _There. _That didn't sound too bad, did it?

Again that strange, knowing smile appeared on her features.

"I did say we were bound to meet again, didn't I? So it doesn't matter that I did not introduce myself then", she stated simply.

"You sound so certain. I was half convinced you were a commoner. I could hardly believe that a lady of Gondor would stay behind for the battle, even though your brothers told me afterwards that you were present", he said. His full focus and thought was on her and he had forgotten about Firefoot and the fact that he should get back to the palace eventually.

"I suppose it was unusual. But I told my father I needed to be there at the time… while I'm not a healer, there was still much that I could do to help. Some would say he is too indulging with me, although he is not the kind to agree to random whims and fancies", Lady Lothíriel spoke and her tone was light, like she really did not think much of the affair.

"Well, I am glad you were there", Éomer said, smiling broadly at her. A warm, happy sensation was glowing in the centre of his chest. At last the mystery was revealed. She was a real woman now, not just a memory that would eventually fade as years passed, but still leaving him with that tiny sliver of discontent. He couldn't have imagined the relief he would feel this moment.

"I must ask, Sire, though I know it is impudent. I saw you before when you were riding down the beach, your arms in the air and just letting your horse carry you away… what were you thinking of?" she asked him suddenly, searching his face with those keen eyes of hers.

"I was just… I was simply glad to be there. I don't normally get to sneak off like this", he replied, masking his surprise that she asked such a question. Once more, Imrahil's words returned to his mind. She was not Elven, but neither was she like most mortal women he knew.

"Then you are enjoying your stay here in Dol Amroth?" she asked him, and put her hand on his arm. At once he understood the gesture and began to lead the way down to the beach, choosing the easiest path but also offering his support as much as she needed it.

"It is very pleasant. I have not seen a more beautiful city ever in my life. And your family has not spared their efforts in keeping me comfortable and entertained", he answered with a smile.

"No wonder. I have never heard them speak anything but praises when they mention you or your sister, my lord. I had thought that if you didn't visit us by your own choice, Father would come and bring you here against your will", she commented lightly as they reached the beach. Éomer laughed.

"I don't think I would have fought back. It's been a difficult year in Rohan and I very much needed a holiday", he said, and as his thoughts returned to the struggles of past winter, he felt like a sudden dark cloud was passing over the face of the sun. But then her hand squeezed his arm gently before she withdrew it again, and the sensation dismissed all troubled memories from his mind.

"In that case, it's good you are here", she said and looked at him as though she knew exactly the burden he carried. It was strange. At the same time, it was so difficult to meet those deep, knowing eyes, and yet he felt like he never wanted to look away.

"Yes, it is", he agreed, and would probably have continued talking if Firefoot had not chosen that moment to push his head against him. The stallion chortled as though in reproach; Éomer knew he was lucky the beastly thing had not bitten him.

"What is it, old fellow? Have I been neglecting you?" he asked his stallion in Rohirric as he ran his hand over Firefoot's mighty head. The horse shook it and whinnied restlessly.

"He's beautiful. What's his name?" asked Lady Lothíriel. There was a look of admiration in her eyes, but she knew to keep her distance to the stallion.

"I call him Firefoot. Most people would tell you he's a veritable monster, but he's also the fastest, most loyal horse I've ever ridden", he answered with no small amount of pride. Training this horse had been difficult and time-consuming, but it had been worth it. That he was alive this day was at least in part thanks to his warhorse.

He glanced at her again and asked, "Do you ride?"

"Sometimes. I'm not as passionate about it as Elphir or Amrothos, but I like it well enough", she replied. Then she smiled at him slightly, "Shall we get going? I have been on the move since the dawn."

"Did you come here straight away?" Éomer inquired; she had not been at breakfast and while he had wondered about it, he had kept his thoughts to himself.

"Yes. I felt restless after our journey and could not sleep well last night. But a good, long walk always works miracles. Not to mention, you may find a few treasures on your path", she said and lifted her basket slightly. He smiled in agreement; he could well appreciate the idea, though for different reasons than her.

It did not even occur to Éomer to ride Firefoot back to the palace. Instead, he was happy to lead the horse and walk beside Lady Lothíriel. As they made their way back to her home, she told him more about her study of herbs and how she had sifted through libraries both here in Dol Amroth and Mundburg to get her hands on all the possible writings and lore on the subject. At the castle, she had a workshop where she studied, prepared and experimented on the specimen she had gleaned. She did not only prepare them for the healers in the service of her father but also for the kitchens, and she made soaps, oils, perfumes, incenses, ointments and balms – based on whatever was in season, or took her fancy. It sounded like there was no boundaries to her curiosity or the things she could make from smallest and meanest things that grew on earth.

She discriminated on no plant: whether it came from the palace's gardens, or the woods, or the cliffs by the sea, it was interesting to her. She praised even weeds such as nettles, and when he wondered at this, she smiled and told him she had found accounts on people using them to make thread and fabric for their clothes. She also spoke of an old fairy tale that was well known in Belfalas, a story of a noble maiden whose brothers were transformed into swans by a witch's curse. To help them turn back again, the maiden wove them shirts from fresh, untreated nettles, and though her hands burned with pain and agony, she was allowed to speak no word until all shirts were finished.

In quiet wonder Éomer listened to her speak. He interrupted her only to ask questions or clarifications. She had a pleasant voice, perhaps a bit deeper than a woman's voice normally was, but it had a clear, melodious quality to it. Before now, he had never much considered the study that went into growing things, but she had a way of talking about it that made him want to learn more, perhaps visit her workshop and see how she prepared her salves, ointments and remedies for the healers. Fancy that. At this rate, he and Éowyn both would be starting gardens.

They reached courtyard of the castle all too soon and he was a little bit disappointed to get there. Talking with her and listening to her talk about herb-lore had been so pleasant, he was sad to part ways so soon.

All the same, Éomer turned to face her. From the corner of his eye he could see Éothain fuming and glaring at him, but he could well listen to the man's lectures once he had taken his leave properly.

"I must thank you for walking with me, my lady. I enjoyed it very much. And your tales are most informative", he said to her, bowing his head briefly.

She smiled and curtsied.

"It was my pleasure, Sire. I had a good time, too. It is so rare to find anyone these days ready to listen to me talking about herbs", she said, eyes glittering like stars. Once again he marvelled at how their light and joy seemed to transform her very face, and for the first time, he thought she was fair.

"You may fill my ears with herb-lore any time you desire, my lady", Éomer said and smiled as well.

Lady Lothíriel laughed.

"I shall remember that, Sire, and you shall live to regret it", she said lightly. Ever so briefly, her fingers touched his sleeve. "I must get going now, but I believe I will be joining you and my family for the dinner tonight. Until then."

"Until then", Éomer echoed, suppressing all foolish ideas of trying to make her stay.

As he watched her go, it finally occurred to him then why he had enjoyed their conversation so much. She had treated him like an old friend, not like a young and unmarried king.

* * *

After his ride, Éomer was joined by Éothain, Elphir and Amrothos. His captain was not quite as wroth with him as he had expected, but perhaps he was saving the lecture for later. For, as they had agreed earlier at the breakfast, the two Rohirrim were about to receive a tour of Imrahil's stables and then go watch the Swan Knights training.

Normally, Éomer would have had no difficulty in giving his full attention to the matter at hand. He was curious about horse-breeding and training in these parts, and it was a great honour to be allowed into Imrahil's own stables. However, the chance meeting on the cliffs tempted his thoughts persistently and he had to focus hard in order not to think of the woman who had for so long puzzled him.

At least in his own mind, he was able to stay alert fairly well. Elphir and Amrothos did not seem to notice anything off, but Éothain's sharp eyes missed nothing; twice during their tour of the stables he gave Éomer a long, studious look as if to ask what was going on.

Imrahil's horses were of good stock, though they were smaller and more demure than the great Northern horses. At some point, one of his forefathers had bought some steeds from Southron lands and bred them here. It was generally agreed that some of the best mounted knights in Gondor came from Belfalas.

After the stables they were given a demonstration in that subject. While Éomer had seen them in battle at the Pelennor fields, it was different to watch them train. It was fascinating enough, even if he was not a neutral judge; no Rohir could ever be. There were multiple points he could have chimed in and corrected some manoeuvre, but he kept quiet. Thankfully, neither Elphir or Amrothos really expected him or Éothain to give their full, unembellished opinions.

Still, the King and his captain gave a few pointers as to how they might want to change their training sequences, and Elphir listened in rapt attention to every word they said. His wonder and excitement only grew when a couple of Rohirrim arrived with their horses to perform in the training ring, and to display a few of their tricks. One of them turned around in saddle while in full gallop, and the other showed how to pick up a spear from the ground without even stopping the horse. The tricks looked deceptively easy, but Éomer made sure Elphir understood how much training it took; he didn't want reckless Swan Knights getting serious injuries while trying to imitate Riders of the King's Guard, who were some of the most accomplished horsemen in the Mark.

All the same, they received enthusiastic applause from their audience. And perhaps even more than before there was talk on whether some horse-breeders could be persuaded to take a job here in Dol Amroth. Such a man would be treated like a king, Amrothos noted, and then he sighed in wistful longing.

Most of the afternoon passed in this way and it was closing on dinnertime when they returned from the training grounds to the palace. Elphir, Amrothos and Éothain were talking quickly, but Éomer was quiet. No longer required to pay attention, he let his mind wander freely back to the events of this morning. Going over his talk with the Lady Lothíriel once more, he realised that he had made an error when he had not asked her one important question.

On the night they had met, she had said to him: _I see the sun shining down on your path. _He had thought of that phrase so much during the past year, it was now etched in his memory. Almost as often he had wondered what she had _meant. _Why had she spoken those words?

He excused himself from the company of his captain and Imrahil's sons as soon as he could, and then made his way to his rooms. Truth was, he would have liked to go looking for _her _and ask all the questions that had bothered him ever since that strange, grim night. However, he had as much idea of how to find her in the castle as he had of discovering the road to moon.

But Lady Lothíriel had promised to join the company for dinner. Perhaps then he would have his chance.

That evening he bathed again and dressed with care. Some might have commented on how frequently he was bathing, or how much attention he was paying to his appearance. He told himself it was just good manners. This was the first actual dinner with Imrahil's own daughter and also his sister. It was no small honour to be allowed inside this family circle, and he could not appear there like some kind of a wild man from the woods.

There was a round looking glass in his rooms and despite himself, Éomer stepped before it. He had to bow down to actually see his face in it. There was the reflection of a blond, bearded man; eyes too sharp, brow too proud, features too strong – a shaggy, fearsome thing to behold. He didn't like it. Usually when he saw his reflection, he tried not to look himself in the eyes. There was something unsettling in them, something quite savage and raw. Or, perhaps he just imagined it.

He shook himself. This was foolish, for he was going among friends, and they didn't care what he looked like.

The three brothers and their aunt were already present when he arrived. The Lady Ivriniel reminded him a little bit of Imrahil himself, though her features were softer and more feminine. But she was tall and graceful, and she held herself proudly even with age upon her shoulders. She had the same eyes as her niece and the same mouth. Meeting this woman, he could now see the resemblance all too well. Of course _she _was a member of this family. Why hadn't he realised from the start that the woman he had met in the Houses of Healing was of the line of Imrahil of Dol Amroth? Well, in his defence, he had been more than just little distraught at the time.

As if summoned by his thought, Imrahil entered with his daughter by his arm. Now she truly looked like a lady. Her gown was blue with silver trimmings, pearls adorned her neck, and her dark hair was in elaborate braids around her head. When looking at her, Éomer wondered how had he ever thought her anything except a noble lady. As such, he was also quick to scold himself when his eye lingered a bit too long at the soft swell of her bosom and the gentle sway of her round hips. Thankfully, Imrahil did not seem to have noticed anything.

He rose to his feet to greet them and the lady smiled slightly at him, as though they shared some amusing secret that was only known to the two of them. He returned the smile, at ease once more, and felt like he was standing a bit taller.

"Éomer, my friend! Come meet my daughter", Imrahil spoke, smiling as only a proud father would.

"I must beg your pardon, Imrahil. We already met earlier today on the cliffs by the sea", Éomer replied as he stepped closer to the Prince and his daughter.

"You did? Well, I suppose I should not be surprised. Lothíriel often goes walking outside. During the past few years, it troubled me greatly. I was quite worried some pirate would snatch her from the beach", Imrahil said and he kept his tone light enough, but something told Éomer it had disturbed him very much.

"I have no such fate before me, Father", said the lady calmly, like she knew this thing for a fact. She glanced between their faces before adding in a lighter voice, "The King was most forthcoming. He let me talk about herbs all the way back to castle!"

"Indeed? Then you must know you have made fast friends, Éomer", Imrahil said with a soft laugh and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

"It's always a pleasure to listen to someone talk about things they love. Not to mention, this morning I learnt more about herbs from her than in my whole life until now", Éomer said simply and nodded at the lady. She looked pleased and cast him a bright smile.

"My daughter is indeed very knowledgeable in the subject. I doubt there is anyone in Dol Amroth who is better informed than her", said Imrahil proudly. "But come now! Dinner is ready and I at least am quite famished."

The company made their way to the laden table, which was again full of every delicacy imaginable. Éomer was able to take seat next to Lothíriel and he tried not to appear too pleased with this development. But he was feeling restless, too, so that he could hardly sit still. He burned to ask her a good number of questions, and chief among them was what she had meant when she had promised him sunlight. Was it odd to fixate on one phrase like this? To think there was something behind it beyond an encouragement? One could think so. However, Éomer fancied himself a good judge of character and there was something about the memory of that encounter that would not leave him alone. Her words had a meaning behind them that he did not yet understand, and it haunted him even now. He needed to make sense of this – and of the question why the thought of her would not leave him alone.

He had one problem, though. How could he interrogate her in the middle of this company? Doing so would mean revealing that he had met her before this day, and then explanations would be requested. He did not want to give them. The memory belonged to him and her alone, and to share it with others, even friends such as Imrahil and sons were, would be to tarnish it.

Éomer glanced at the woman sitting next to him. If she felt the faintest bit of his anxiety, it did not show on her calm features. But she felt his eyes on herself and lifted up her face to smile at him. Something shifted in his chest, both eager and exasperated. If only he knew what was going through her mind!

He would have engaged her in a conversation, to try and make sense of this woman as much as propriety and etiquette allowed, but unfortunately he was not given that chance. The rest of her family were keeping up a general discussion around the table, directing questions at her as well. They wanted to know about her trip, or to tell her this or that thing which had occurred while she was gone. So he was left brewing in his frustration and curiosity. He hoped he didn't look too much like a man who has accidentally sat on a hedgehog and is now desperately trying to hide that fact.

The dinner was pleasant enough, even if he wasn't able to enjoy it as fully and sincerely as he had intended. Time and again, he became anxiously aware of how easy it would be to reach for her hand and pull her away, and take her some place private where he could interrogate her. But such bizarre behaviour would not be tolerated by Imrahil, even if Éomer had no foul intentions towards the Lady Lothíriel. So he suppressed his impulsive thoughts and tried to act like a completely sane, mild-mannered guest.

So Éomer did not get a chance to really talk to her in depth, except for some formal and superficial exchanges whenever the general conversation at the table allowed it. All too soon dessert was finished and chairs were pushed back. Both women bid them a good night and took their leave side by side.

Despite himself, he couldn't help but watch Lady Lothíriel go. Once more he was staring at her back as she moved away, leaving him dissatisfied and wondering. He consoled himself by thinking of how he still had many days left here in Dol Amroth; he would find his chance to find out the truth.

* * *

Later that night Éomer was sharing a drink with Éothain in his rooms. It was a warm night and the air was still. The moon was almost full as he rode high above the sea, a silver disk against the deepest, darkest blue. Stars were very bright as well and it was such a beautiful sight, this soft light upon the sea, that Éomer had come out to his balcony to admire it. He stood there leaning his elbows against the balustrade and enjoying the fair night.

Éothain came next to him with silver cups, filled with wine. With thanks Éomer accepted the drink and took a sip.

"So, what do we think of Dol Amorth?" he asked his friend after a moment.

"It's a marvel. Every bit as wonderful as I expected", said the captain. He cast a smile at his king, "Not to mention, Imrahil is a phenomenal host. He feeds us lads better even than you do."

Éomer laughed.

"I shall have words with him. Stern words, mind you. I can't have my own guard getting too comfortable", he quipped. Éothain laughed as well.

The young king cast then a more serious look at his friend.

"Though of course you and the lads deserve it. I'm not the only one who was working hard through last winter", he noted and briefly rested his hand on Éothain's shoulder. He knew how much his captain had taken upon his shoulders in an attempt to make things easier for Éomer. And truth was he was not the only one having to learn many new things: the mantle of the King's captain was a duty of great concern.

"You are our king", Éothain said plainly. "Each one of us would give our lives for you. And you have led us victorious through many storms – we will ride this one by your side, too."

Though Éomer had nothing but trust for his captain, and he knew his Riders to be loyal and devoted, Éothain's words still humbled him and made his throat feel tight. He swallowed hard and looked at his friend, not knowing how to respond to something so simple and yet so important.

But if his captain had a knack for handling his moods, however difficult. Éothain just smiled and lifted his cup, and in companionable silence they toasted their drinks. For a while, both stood leaning against the balustrade, drinking and watching the sea.

"I met Imrahil's daughter today", Éomer said after a moment. He wasn't sure why he did so – perhaps she just was such an overwhelming presence in his thoughts that he needed to put her into words. He didn't mind who listened to their voices, for they were using their own northern tongue. The only other people who would understand it in this city were staying at the barracks.

"You did? What is she like?" Éothain inquired.

"She's... unusual", said the young king, frowning slightly. That was quite the understatement for a lady so singular.

"Unusual as compared to maidens or Rohan, or – Béma forbid it – to ladies of Gondor?" Éothain wanted to know.

"Unusual compared to them all. She's wise in herb-lore, she walks the woods and the shores alone without an escort, and she seems to know something I don't", said Éomer.

His friend laughed softly.

"That last one isn't as unusual as you think, lad. At least, most women I've known in my time do know something I don't, or at least they believe so", Éothain said lightly and drank more of his wine.

Éomer thought of his sister and cast a lopsided smile at his friend, "... true."

Éothain glanced at him thoughtfully.

"Do you like her, then?" he asked tentatively. His blue eyes glinted like he was going through some kind of a calculation. Éomer refrained from snorting; he had all too good an idea of what idea had occurred to the man.

"She is gentle of mood, courteous and well-spoken. But there is also something strange and wild about her. And not wild as unrestrained, but like... like she has a path and purpose of her own that others can't comprehend", Éomer explained slowly, though even that did not pinpoint what was so unusual about her. He considered also telling his friend that this lady was none other than the strange maiden he had met in the Houses of Healing, but he suspected that would get Éothain going in a way that was just really unhelpful. Damned Éowyn, going behind his back and meddling!

"You didn't answer my question", Éothain pointed out.

"If I didn't, then you must recall I barely know her", said the young king and shook his head slightly.

"Imrahil's daughter, though. You must know what I'm thinking of right now", said the captain after a moment and cast a meaningful look over the rim of his cup at Éomer.

The younger of the two Rohirrim scoffed softly.

"Oh, I do. You've been having that thought ever since last summer, so forgive me if I'm not moved", he said sternly.

Now it was Éothain's turn to scoff.

"Right. But you did say you think she's unusual. I don't know if you noticed, but nobody else has got even that much from you this past year. Usually, when I ask you what you think about this or that lady, you just groan and glare at me", he persisted.

Éomer directed a sharp look at his captain.

"And you will get just that again, if you insist on going down this path once more", he informed the man. Then he let out a sigh, "The lady is a friend. Or, I think she could be. May I just have that, please?"

Éothain lifted his free hand up in a disarming gesture.

"Fine, fine. The lady is a friend", he said quickly and drained the rest of his wine. "And obviously you haven't had enough of time off yet, or you wouldn't be so touchy."

"That, my friend, isn't something a simple holiday will cure", Éomer said wryly and stretched. Lazily he made his way back inside.

"Truer words were never spoken. You are a wise fool, son of Éomund", said Éothain sagely as he followed his liege-lord.

It was not long that the captain took his leave, bidding good night as he went. Éomer thought of starting a letter for Éowyn, but it was getting late already. So he put out the lamps, undressed and washed, and then got to bed.

As he lay there in the darkness, he thought of the events of the day and the lady he had found again. Some mysteries he now had answered, but others still remained. And there was _her, _standing at the centre of them, puzzling his mind no less even when she had a name and lineage.

_We were always bound to meet again. _

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Damn, you guys, this story is really living a life of its own at the moment! Granted, parts of this chapter were already drafted before, but I've been working on it like a maniac since publishing the last one. I very much enjoyed writing their first official meeting, and I do hope you liked it as well!

The story about the maiden and her cursed brothers is based on a fairy tale by Brothers Grimm, called The Six Swans, though I myself am more familiar with H. C. Andersen's version, called The Wild Swans. To me, it sounds like the type of fairy tale that might be told in Belfalas and especially in Dol Amroth, as the device of the ruling House of the region is a silver swan-ship.

Recently I was reading Annemarta Borgen's book (originally titled _Urtehagen på Knatten), _in which she writes about gardening and the usage of herbs and plants in Northern Europe, especially her homeland Norway. From her I learnt that in the Nordic countries, nettles were commonly used for making thread and fabric since the very ancient times. The fabric was a bit like cotton or linen, but it was replaced by cotton in the 19th century thanks to industrial revolution, which also revolutionised textile-making. Even afterwards, nettles were important fodder for the cattle. I'm not sure nettles would be used in Belfalas or the wealthy area of Dol Amroth, but perhaps in the harsher lands of Rhovanion and in the old settlements of Northmen, nettles might be an important material for making linens and such. To the Númenóreans settling in Gondor before and after the fall of Westernesse this might be so unusual that it became a plot point in one of their fairy tales.

Than you for reading and reviewing! If you got time, let me know what you think. All comments are very much appreciated.

* * *

**EStrunk - **I do hope you liked their meeting in this chapter! :) And I admit I'm rather fond of Leofrun already!

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Here you go, then! :D

**sploosh93 - **And here we have a meeting! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

**Serni - **Thanks! I liked writing about the city as well. :)

**JennyVDM - **Thank you! It's fun to look at this unfamiliar city through his eyes. I do hope you liked their meeting.

**sai19 - **Thanks! That's a lovely picture you paint of Dol Amroth! And I do agree that it would be different from Minas Tirith, and not just because it's a coastal city.

**Catspector - **Hope you liked their meeting in this chapter! That young woman likes to take her time, I'm afraid! :D

**Jo - **Thanks! :)

**Guest - **I hope to live up to your expectations!

**Rho67 -** Thank you! I do love Éomer very much, so it's great to hear I'm doing him justice. Personally, I just hate it when I read a story that has him out of character.

Hopefully, Lothíriel can hold up to the expectation!

**rossui - **Thank you! I felt like it was important to set the scene properly and show the world she was born in. I hope you liked their meeting!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next morning was bright and beautiful. Even Imrahil stayed late for breakfast, and when the table was finally cleared, he suggested the company make a trip to his vineyard inland. He had some business there, but the place and the road there were pleasant and fair. Not all of his sons seemed enthused by the idea, but Lady Lothíriel looked up with a smile and stated she was happy to join the company.

Éomer tried not to seem too pleased. Perhaps he would have his chance to talk to her alone in the vineyard... or on the road there. He would surely be on guard for such an opportunity.

After the breakfast the company dispersed to prepare for the trip, and less than half an hour later they met again outside. Horses were made ready, perhaps not quite with the speed and skill of the royal stable-hands of Meduseld, but Éomer kept these notions to himself. The happy bustle in the courtyard was very much the same, even if it was amusingly odd to see the King's Guard and Swan Knights mingling in a blur of green and blue. Éomer's Rider's towered above others on their great warhorses.

But then a white mare was brought forth, a beautiful animal with large, gentle eyes. She was wearing a lady's saddle and her bridle was blue and silver. Rohirric warhorses, Firefoot included, all snorted and stirred. Their masters were quick to check them again, but Éomer's eyes followed the lady who took charge of the mare. Imrahil's daughter was dressed in a blue riding gown and her hair was in a thick, neat braid. A light silver-grey scarf was loosely resting on her head and one shoulder.

The white mare moved restlessly, but her mistress was quick to settle her down with a soft hand and some words that, as far as Éomer could catch them, were in Sindarin. He had heard tales of how that Elder Tongue impacted animals and was not surprised to see the mare quiet down.

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Perhaps the lady was more of a horsewoman than she had led him to believe.

Soon enough the whole company was gathered and they rode out. Éomer stayed close to Imrahil and his family, and around them Royal Guard and Swan Knights kept watch. The standards of Rohan and Dol Amroth, the White Horse and the Swan Ship, were carried side by side. Even so, the whole company seemed to have this feeling of holiday about them. Many voices were speaking cheerfully and among Rohirrim, there were a few who were even inspired to sing. They sang in the language of the North, which soon caught the attention of Lady Lothíriel.

"Your people's tongue is beautiful, Sire, though I do not understand it. What are your Riders singing?" she asked him as they rode slowly through the streets of Dol Amroth. She was close enough to talk to him, but there were many people around them, and so a private conversation was unthinkable.

"It's a common travelling song of my country. It speaks of how good it's to make way under the sun upon the green, and yet how sweet it's to get to one's hearth again. Rohirrim are always singing, my lady; it's our second speech, as some have said", Éomer explained. A quick glance around had him realising she was not the only one listening to his words, but he directed his eyes at her.

"That is a kind of wisdom indeed. I have read tales that our distant ancestors who woke at Hildórien at the first sunrise leanrt to speak through songs", she said. It was odd, the nonchalant way she spoke of this matter of ancient lore which was little known to Men of this Twilight Age. Surely for the Rohirrim, even the tales of the North before Eorl the Young brought their people to Rohan were a matter of dim and remote past.

Éomer would much have liked to ask more on this matter, but unfortunately, Erchirion rode next to his sister and asked her about some salve she was supposed to be preparing for him. So her attention was directed elsewhere, and Éomer's chance to interrogate her on the matters of obscure lore was denied. But he still wondered. Her knowledge of the world unusual among most Mortal Men. Perhaps not among the daughters and sons of Westernesse, though, as Éomer told himself.

Outside the city country was as green and fair as he had seen before. It had still been spring in the Riddermark when he had left; here, it felt like summer. They took a fair road under great, ancient oaks. Here and there, golden sunlight peeked through their massive branches and into the cool, green shade. He had rarely seen trees of such size and girth. Clearly, the Princes of Dol Amroth had taken care of securing these trees. Idly he wondered what Treebeard would have to say about it.

Nearby, the lady with the white mare was riding. Éomer had a fair number of things he wanted to say to her, but it appeared he was not going to get his chance again. For it seemed that either she was watching the green lands around them, or Erchirion or Amrothos was riding in between her and the young king.

Still, some of his impatience and anxiety must have shown on his face, and Amrothos of all people was the one to notice it – even if he completely misunderstood where it came from.

"Don't expect to be entertained while we ride. Lothíriel is a nightmare to travel with in the countryside. She will stop her escort at any plant or bush that interests her, and if it's something new, she will sit down with her little notebook and spend half the afternoon studying every blasted leaf", he commented cheerfully and cast a charming grin at his sister.

She scoffed at him, though her eyes glittered in amusement.

"It's not my fault you lack patience and discipline", she jabbed calmly. "It's not like I make anybody come with me, so if you don't want to sit around while I do my work, that's your concern."

"The way she speaks, you might think she doesn't know she's Prince Imrahil's only daughter", Amrothos said to Éomer with a shake of his head.

"What do I have to fear in my own land?" asked Lady Lothíriel unaffectedly, but Amrothos just groaned. It sounded like this conversation had occurred many times, to the point of exhaustion. Éomer decided not to say anything, even if he did side with Amrothos. He couldn't imagine letting his own kin travel the countryside without any protection and it surprised him that the lady didn't seem to think it an issue. What did she know that the others didn't?

Soon enough they road began to climb and the woods were left behind. Then they saw their destination: a beautiful villa built on a green hill, and great fields spreading around it to every direction. At a glance, Éomer could not say how large the vineyard was. In any case, it was a lush, green place. The air was fragrant and mild and in the vineyard, many workers were tending to the precious plants.

The villa's paved courtyard had just enough space for the company, but only a couple stable-hands, so the steeds were cared for under the supervision of Éomer's Riders and a few Swan Knights. Meanwhile, the master of the vineyard, a sturdy silver-haired man with bright brown eyes, took Prince Imrahil's company and the King of Rohan on a tour of the vineyard. It was well-tended and vines were in good order, as could be expected of anything that Imrahil's hand touched.

The members of that company seemed to possess different levels of interest in the tour. Imrahil and Elphir followed the master of the vineyard as intensely as if this was their first time visiting the place. Erchirion was engaged in a hushed conversation with Éothain, and Amrothos looked like he would rather be enjoying the end products than seeing the vines that produced the grapes for wine. But Lady Lothíriel seemed to both follow the tour, and at the same time, she often halted to examine one of the vines. If she lingered too long at any specimen, Amrothos would push her along. Éomer was as much entertained by this little routine as he was by listening to the master of the vineyard explain the intricacies of wine-making. The first of these vines had come from Westernesse before the fall, good and wholesome as most growing things brought out from the isle which had lain closest of all mortal lands to the Blessed Realm. The vineyard had survived even the leaner years and times of war, when it had been more important to grow grain and vegetable. Once, the entire vineyard had almost burned down in a pirate raid, but the oldest part of it had been saved thanks to the efforts of the gardeners and a well-timed rainstorm. For some who had worked their whole lives at this plantation these vines were like children.

One could have spent an entire afternoon exploring the vineyeard, but Imrahil had some business with the master of the plantation. So the company turned their faces at the villa once more. Amrothos was quick to suggest a trip to the wine-cellar in the meanwhile. His sister rolled her eyes.

"Don't let him get you drunk, Sire. I'm going to visit the villa and have some light lunch prepared for us in the garden. It should be ready in half an hour", she said to Éomer with a slight smile.

He bowed his head to her.

"Thank you, my lady. We shall be there, even if we have to carry Amrothos out", he promised, making her laugh softly.

"Excellent. I knew you could be counted on, Sire", she said, touched his sleeve briefly, and made her way towards the villa.

He could not help it. He watched her go and felt something akin to anxiety shifting in his chest. Words left unsaid burned his tongue, even if he wasn't sure what those words were.

"Oi, Éomer! Did you fall asleep on your feet? Let's get going!" Amrothos demanded impatiently. Grumbling something affirmative, Éomer followed his friend to the wine-cellars. Éothain and several Riders came with them, but Elphir had joined his father, and Erchirion had vanished.

In songs and tales, the typical master of wine-cellars always enjoyed his profession a little too much, but the man in charge of this one was anything but. His face fell when he saw Amrothos, and Éomer was fairly sure he would have denied them access to the many treasures of the cellar, if not for the royal guest. Amrothos wasted no time in insisting how horribly rude it would be not to give a sample of precious vintages to the King of Rohan, and reluctantly the oppressed keeper of the cellar brought them a few bottles and goblets of shining brass.

There was rich red wine and crisp white, and when he got to explaining how these drinks were made, the keeper seemed to relent a bit. It was delicious, of course, if different from the ale Éomer preferred. He listened politely to the keeper's tales, sipping his drink much more slowly than Amrothos. Éothain and the Riders were even more wary. While the captain knew his king would not mind him enjoying himself a bit, Éomer suspected the captain would rather die than be caught drunk while on duty. The guards with them followed his lead.

Half an hour passed quickly. They did not quite carry Amrothos out, but it took a bit of manhandling and a few firm commands.

"Not to mention, I would not insult your sister by being late", Éomer pointed out as they climbed up the stairs of the cellar and into the light of the courtyard.

"Hmph. You pay too much attention to her wishes and far to little to mine", Amrothos complained, though he allowed himself to be steered towards the garden.

"That choice is easily made", Éomer said and smiled faintly.

A table for the company was almost ready in the garden that overlooked the vineyard and the lady was supervising the servants as they carried out plates and dishes. Imrahil and his two elder sons were there as well, conversing quietly with the master of the vineyard. But Lady Lothíriel saw the King and his two companions arriving and she cast them a bright smile. Instantly Éomer returned it.

"Come! The table is set", she summoned the company to enjoy the lunch and with a cheerful bustle, they took their seats.

As seemed to be the rule in these parts, the food was plentiful and delicious. There were cold cuts of chicken presented on a bed of fresh salad and tomatoes, crisp white bread still warm from the oven, a golden-brown hunter's pie that smelt heavenly when cut open, and plenty of white wine. The lady herself poured them drinks before taking seat next to Éomer. When she passed him the earthenware goblet, her fingers brushed his own. That smallest of touches sent a strange tremor across his hand and arm, as though she had tugged at some tendon he hadn't known of until now, and by it something stirred deep in his chest.

He met those sea-grey eyes, but she looked away before he could search them and discover if she had felt that tremor, too. He glanced around the faces of his friends but it did not seem like they had noticed anything odd. Imrahil and his sons were already speaking in their usual quick, cheerful manner.

Éomer sat in silence for a while, trying to make sense of the noise in his head, but coming out none the wiser. He wanted to shake himself. He was acting like an ill-mannered fool, and in any case, hadn't he wished to talk to her? While this was not the time or place for the questions that continued to trouble him, there was still plenty he could say to her.

"My lady", he began tentatively, "It is a beautiful place, this vineyard. Do you come here often?"

"Not very often. As much as I appreciate the art of wine-making, it's not within the scope of my own interests. There are some interesting plants here, of course, but the countryside is filled with many fascinating things", she replied.

"You walk so boldly in your land", he noted carefully. He didn't want to argue with her, or challenge her in the way Amrothos did; he was simply curious.

The lady shrugged.

"Perhaps I do. But I am light of foot and know how to hide myself if there is a need for it", she said with an air of indifference, though he sensed a degree of reluctance in it. He decided not to pursue the matter any further for the time being. It would only serve in driving up her walls, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Have you always had this passion for the things that grow?" he asked her instead.

She cast him a quick smile.

"Most of my life, yes. There is such beauty and wonder in it, this richness we have been blessed with by the Powers that shaped the world. I wish to study it and know it as intimately as I can. And I am lucky. Had I been born a farmer's daughter, I would never have a chance to spend so much time in my studies. Of course, daughters and wives in small villages of Gondor know much of this lore, and they employ it in a very practical manner in their everyday lives", she answered warmly, as one would of a matter close to their heart.

Éomer could not help but smile.

"This may sound odd, my lady, but I think you would love to meet the Halflings of the Shire. Their love of things that grow rivals your own", he said lightly, and she let out a soft laugh.

"Yes, I have heard much of them and their blessed land. My brother Amrothos befriended them after the war, as he will tell anyone who'll listen. I do not know them myself, but I saw the Master Meriadoc in the Houses of Healing", she explained and lifted her goblet to her lips.

For a while they were engaged in such a talk, and he told her how until recently Halflings had only been a matter of children's tales in Rohan. Even more curiously, he had discovered his tongue and the language of the hobbits shared a kinship of old – there were many words that they both knew. Lady Lothíriel listened to him speak, making a question here and there, and ever so often her eyes strayed to him. But she was quick to look away again.

"I have always wanted to travel North and see the lands beyond the White Mountains. Not because I do not love these shores and woods. But the world is wide and has many wondrous things in it, and it's sad always be left behind – always to just picture those wonders in the eye of one's mind", she said with sudden longing in her voice.

"Then you must visit Rohan some time, my lady. You and your family are always welcome in my home. I imagine there you would find many a herb and leaf you had not seen before, and many who would be eager to learn from you", he offered and tried to ignore the small thrill that went through him at the thought.

In her eyes was a faraway look. She did not answer his offer with any pleasantries; instead, she spoke so quietly that he had to strain to hear her: "If I visited Edoras, I might not leave it."

He blinked and looked at her in wonder. What could she possibly mean by such a statement? Éomer fully meant to ask, but she shook her head and looked at him with clear eyes again, as though nothing had happened.

"My lord, why don't you tell me more about your homeland? It is one thing to hear tales from second-hand sources, but a man will speak more truly of his home than his friends in foreign lands ever may", she said, and despite his brief confusion, Éomer was glad to answer her.

She listened to him eagerly, making questions here and there, and her eyes began to shine as he spoke of the green, rolling hills of his homeland and what it felt like to ride over the plains with wind in his hair. He told her about the great horses, loved by their riders like kin, and the free, fierce people who well matched the proud steeds. He described their songs, some full of grief and others so glad that you would think no darkness had ever touched the green earth, the tales and legends of the North he had listened to as a child, and how much he loved his land and his people. When he spoke, a warmth grew in his breast and he realised how true it was. For so many months, all he had been able to see was the constant toil of his new position, and people seeing him only through what they thought he could give to them, be it livelihood or his hand in marriage. But when he told Lady Lothíriel of the Riddermark, he understood how deep his love of it ran – how much he was willing and able to do to protect it.

This conversation continued after the lunch was finished and the company began their journey back to the city. Now the lady rode next to him and she did not allow any of her brothers to get in between or distract her. There seemed to be no end to her interest in the Mark, and over the journey back to Dol Amroth, Éomer found himself giving her an abridged version of the history of Rohan. And whenever he glanced her way, he would see her smiling face.

Éomer barely noticed the landscape passing by as they rode back. All too soon they reached the gates of the city. The streets were in a bustle of afternoon, and so it was quite impossible to continue their conversation. People made way almost instinctively, which was wise in a street full of big warhorses, some of which had tempers fit for trolls. But his own instinct was to keep an eye around, especially close to the lady on the white mare. Not that he expected an ambush in the middle of Amrothian street, but it was a second nature for him to be on guard where multitudes gathered. It was the knife you did not see coming that ought to make you wary.

Even with his passing paranoia, they reached the castle without an issue, and the great courtyard filled with noise and movement. It was a whirlwind of horses and men and looking around, Éomer could see Lady Lothíriel was almost at the other side of it. He caught her eyes briefly and they shared a quick smile before a stable-hand came to get her horse.

In this bustle, it was no wonder that Imrahil and Elphir did not notice him. Éomer did not mean to eavesdrop, but he could hardly avoid it without making the moment quite awkward for all of them. The two men spoke in Sindarin, and perhaps a word or two were lost on the young king, but he was able to follow the general gist of the hushed talk just on the other side of Éomer's tall warhorse.

"... he seems very taken with her. He could hardly take his eyes off of her", Elphir was saying to his father in a slight tone of concern.

"I saw. But I would not worry about it, son. Our friend is an honourable man and he would never treat her without the appropriate respect", Imrahil replied calmly.

"What if he proposes?"

"He is not a man of Gondor, Elphir. He will seek her first before talking to me. And she will refuse him with all the grace you know her to possess. I admit it is a relief; when it comes from her own mouth, he won't feel like I think him unworthy of her. Nothing could be further from the truth... but you know why she must say no", Imrahil said gravely to his heir.

Éomer had listened to this conversation in silence. His mind was blank at first, numb even, but then he heard Éothain calling his name and he stirred once more. He grunted something unintelligible as an answer and began to walk swiftly towards the palace. He was only vaguely aware of his captain hurrying suit.

Absurd. Yes, that was precisely what it was. _Absurd_. Not once had he thought of proposing to the lady; she was simply pleasant company, she was his friend, and that was all. Yet he could forgive his friends for having such ideas: fathers and brothers were notoriously paranoid with their unmarried kinswomen in this part of the world.

As for the lady, she was indeed as kind and wise as she was lovely. But she was his friend and he appreciated too much the way she had approached him as a man and not a king looking for a bride. He felt no more fondly for her than he did for Amrothos or Erchirion or Elphir.

And that was the full and final truth of the matter, Éomer told himself as he strode swiftly through the white halls of Imrahil's home.

Wasn't it?

* * *

At breakfast next morning, Amrothos made his suggestion: they should go hunting today. It was a beautiful morning and Éomer had yet to take a closer look at the woods beyond the city, so he readily agreed to the plan. Granted, it would take him away from the castle – and a chance of tracking down a certain lady inside its walls – but he was confident he would get to her alone sooner or later. He might as well as take this day to figure out his strategy. Clearly, if anything could be judged by the conversation he had overhead by accident, tact and care would be important.

She was not present at the breakfast, but he already suspected this was not uncommon. She appeared to have a particular routine of her own, which often took her outside to the beach and woods in the early hours of morning. Elphir's words about her living by her own schedule returned to Éomer's mind. He did not ask after her, though she surely was on his mind; he didn't want to confirm any suspicions Imrahil obviously had.

His captain and Riders were pleasantly surprised to hear the news. They enjoyed the sport as much as anybody, but there had been no opportunities for hunting for pleasure last autumn and winter. Éomer himself had not had time for it and all the game that had been caught had gone to the hungry and needy of the realm, of whom there had been many.

The morning went by quickly as a hunting party was prepared, and midday was nearing when they at last reached the woods outside the city. While the setting was different, the atmosphere was familiar. Dogs baying, kennel masters herding the prized hounds, the master of game giving orders to the footmen... even the wood felt tense and expectant.

Amrothos was bursting with energy and he seemed to be everywhere at once, making sure that all was ready for the hunt. Perhaps a bit unusually, the Eorlingas of the party were to be going on foot. None of them wanted to risk injury to their warhorses in unfamiliar terrain. This was also a chance to take a look at the woods, which were different than the forests of the North.

Éomer was testing the longbow he had borrowed from the armoury of the castle. He was not completely unfamiliar with this weapon, although Riders of the Mark normally used a short bow, meant for smaller range and high speed. While he was not a masterful bowman, this unusual setup was actually entertaining in itself.

Next to him Éothain was balancing his spear – also a loan from the armoury, as he would not risk his own precious weapon for fun and sport. He looked cheerful as he tested the swing of his arm with the spear.

"Are we having fun yet?" Éomer asked with half-smile.

"Indeed we are. I'm starting to think you were struck by a rare case of genius when you decided to come here", Éothain commented lightly.

"I have my moments, though they may be few and far in between", Éomer said wryly, making his friend laugh.

"Truer words were never spoken", said the captain and grinned at him.

But abruptly his expression sobered and he reached his hand to touch his king's shoulder.

"It's good to see you like this, too. Makes me feel like old times", he said quietly. They were speaking Rohirric, but many of the King's Riders were bustling close by.

"Aye. I think we've all needed this", Éomer agreed with an emphatic nod. A quiet sense of agreement and companionship was there between them, perhaps more tangible than it had been in a while.

And so because of this feeling, and because of the burning coal of curiosity and eagerness, Éomer could not help blurting out something he had kept to himself until now. So what if Éothain got ideas in his head? Let his actions speak for him rather than words.

"To tell you the truth, it's not just this place", he admitted in an even lower voice. "I've found her again, Éothain. She's here – she was here all along."

His friend looked at him first in confusion, but then realisation dawned on his features as he put together two and two. He was recalling their conversation not long before their journey south – and probably also the one he had had with Éowyn.

"Your healer is here in Dol Amroth?" he asked in surprise and glanced around, as though expecting her to jump out at this reveal.

"Actually, she's not a healer. She was just helping out at the Houses when I met her. That's why I couldn't find her after we came back from Cormallen – she had already returned home", Éomer explained, speaking quickly in a strange, heated rush.

Éothain's eyes grew even wider in curiosity, but the young king continued to speak, "It's Imrahil's daughter, Éothain. I never imagined such a thing! There I was, convinced I would never see her again and who is the first person I meet when I go out riding by myself? I saw her at the cliffs, Éothain, and it was like she had been there waiting for me all this time."

He was aware he had started to rant. It sounded a little bit mad, and Éothain was certainly going to get ideas, but he was simply too happy for finally getting to tell this to another soul.

"Imrahil's daughter, you say?" Éothain asked at last when Éomer finally stopped to catch his breath. Judging by his expression, the captain had indeed much to say about this reveal, but it was in that moment the horn was blown and the hunting party began their trek into the woods. The baying of the dogs was deafening as they were released, speeding into the green shade of the trees. Footmen went jogging ahead as well. There was excited talk in the air as the hunting party made their way forward.

"So, what are you going to do with that information?" Éothain asked after a moment, when he had caught up with Éomer again and the noise had died down a little bit.

"What should I do with it?" asked the young king a bit more warily than before.

"Well, you must realise that she is extremely suitable. Not just because you seem genuinely taken with her, but because of the alliance you would be making", Éothain pointed out. He did not need to explain further. It was all too clear why he thought Lady Lothíriel was "suitable", and what was the nature of the alliance he was thinking of. However, Imrahil would probably have things to say about this thought, should he be a part of the conversation.

"It's not like that. I haven't tried to court her. She's a friend, more or less", said Éomer quickly. He wished he could somehow explain this to Éothain, but it was not so easy when even he did not wholly comprehend it. Yes, the lady was fair and she was very eligible from a purely political point of view. However, he could not bring himself to regard her as a means to an end. Since their first meeting in the Houses of Healing, he was... she was more important than that. She was a friend and he could never treat her as a merely prudent choice for a bride. Not to mention, it was clear how she and her father would respond, should he actually suggest a marriage.

Éothain gave him a sharp stare, and he would probably have pursued the matter further, hadn't Amrothos joined them. He was beaming with enthusiasm and vigour for the hunt, talking eagerly about the game they would fell today and even suggesting a bet on who made the most impressive kill. But Éomer's mind was at least half still in the matter he had spoken of with Éothain, and he couldn't fully share in his friend's excitement.

They had not got very far when there was sudden movement in the forest and one of the footmen called them to a halt. Then a great, low-hanging branch of a tree was carefully lifted, and there appeared a woman in blue.

"Don't shoot me! I'm not a deer", she spoke loudly, but even from afar Éomer saw her wry smile.

"Sister! What in the name of Oromë are you doing here in the woods during a hunt?" Amrothos exclaimed and pushed himself through the crowd. A part of the company kept on going, but Éomer was rather more fascinated by her sudden appearance than any game in the woods. She was a rare creature, at any rate.

"I have been walking far and wide long before you lot came storming through the forest. Surely that is no surprise to you", she replied and lifted her familiar wicker basket as though to emphasise her point.

"Of course I should know you would be skulking around in here, sister. Sometimes I think you like trees better than people", Amrothos said, making a face at her. "Are you going to be burrowing in the bushes for much longer? I don't want anybody to shoot you by accident."

"No, I am quite finished. I was about to leave in any case", she said, wrinkling her nose at her brother as though no other comment on her part was necessary.

It was now Éomer stepped forward, realising his chance had come.

"Why don't I escort you back, my lady?" he offered and gave her a tentative smile. She returned it.

"Very well, Sire", she replied as she passed by her brother.

"But what about the hunt?" Amrothos asked in shock, as though he couldn't in any way understand why his Rohirric friend would rather choose her company than the excitement of the game.

"I'll catch up with you", Éomer said, waving his hand to dismiss the matter. But Éothain's eyes were wide and filled with curiosity, and he did not seem to know whether to be disappointed because of his king was digressing in this way, or intrigued to see whether his dearest wishes of Éomer marrying at last were getting slightly closer to fruition.

The young king gestured at his captain and guards to keep their distance: he wanted to talk to her in as much privacy as was possible. They fell back without a word and Éomer paid no more heed to them, even though he could feel his captain's eyes poring through the back of his skull.

Instead, he fixed his eyes on the woman now walking by his side. He adjusted his longer stride to hers and kept his pace slower than normal. When he offered to carry her basket, she smiled and shook her head.

It was impossible not to stare. There was beautiful colour on her cheeks and brisk light in her eyes. Her hair had perhaps been braided neatly at some point, but a few dark strands had escaped and were now framing her face. She was dressed sensibly in a simple, well-made dress, loose enough for trekking in the woods but without any frilly decorations that would cling to branches and bushes as she walked. Her hands were stained green and brown and she was strange and lovely and wonderful.

"My lord, while I thank you for your company, you needn't have come with me. Amrothos will be quite disappointed", she said and cast him a soft smile.

"I'll have plenty of chance to catch up with him and the rest of the company. The hunt will go on for many hours to come, so I doubt I'll miss much even if I walk back with you", he said with a shake of his head. "Did you get a good haul before we came trampling through the woods?"

She let out a soft laugh.

"It's fairly good. Many things are excellent for gleaning at this time, and spring in these woods is always very generous", she replied lightly, clearly enjoying herself for getting to talk about her passion. "You have to be careful with some plants, though, and wait for the right time to collect them. There are even some, it's said, that are at the height of their powers at particular times of day... or night."

"Is that so? Do you go gleaning in the middle of the night?" he asked her. Somehow, it wouldn't have surprised him to catch her wandering in the forest in moonlight.

"I would, but Father has asked me not to, even though I've told him a hundred times I am perfectly safe", she said and looked a little bit displeased.

"How are you so certain?" he asked her in genuine interest.

Lady Lothíriel did not respond at first. She looked ahead and for a moment, the glimmer of her eyes seemed diminished.

"I know these woods like the back of my hand. There are a thousand hiding places here for one who knows their way around. Orcs have never got this near Dol Amroth and pirates are not a very formidable foe in the middle of a forest", she said at length. Perhaps all these things were correct, but Éomer felt like it wasn't the whole truth. However, she would reveal to him only as much as she chose.

"You are unusual", he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. Immediately he regretted it – he didn't want to sound so coarse and blunt.

She glanced at him quickly and he thought there was something worried in her eyes.

"Does it bother you, my lord?" she asked him softly.

"Not at all. Rather it feels like... like I've known you for many years. And it's a good feeling. It's easy to speak to you; I don't need to watch my manner or my words so much", he explained, and at the same time, it felt right, and yet he was also marvelling at how straightforwardly these confessions fell from his mouth. Moreover, she did not seem to think that he was being too bold with her.

"I do not know if I have earned the honour of such sincerity, my lord", Lady Lothíriel said in a low voice. Did he just imagine it, or was she growing more hesitant? Perhaps he _was _too bold and she was just too polite to tell him to shut his mouth and get lost.

"My lady, I can think of a very few people who have earned it as well as you have. Or do you not remember the night after the Battle of Pelennor fields?" he asked her, watching her face for a sign of what she thought.

"I remember it well, Sire", she replied and looked down.

The moment had come. Éomer felt abruptly breathless over the idea that he might at last know the truth behind her words..._ I see the sun shining down on your path. _It echoed in his head even now.

Éomer cleared his throat and directed a keen stare at her, "My lady, so many times over this past year I have thought about that night. I have pondered your words so often that I doubt I will ever forget a single one of them. But there was something in particular that has puzzled me... you told me you saw sunlight on my path. What made you say that?"

She was silent for a time and kept her eyes straight ahead. For the first time in their knowing one another, he thought she was truly troubled.

"You looked so alone and so in pain. I only wished to comfort and encourage you, and it seemed like the right thing to say", Lady Lothíriel said quietly.

Éomer frowned. He didn't know what he had expected to say, but this was not it. What had he hoped? What could he think her meaning to be? So many times, he had told himself it was just this: a few kind words to a distraught man. And yet this stupid, stubborn voice still kept insisting she was not telling him everything.

"My lady... I do not wish to be difficult, or pester you with my questions. But I must know. Are you telling me the whole truth?" he asked her. He kept his voice as calm and soft as he possibly could, although he felt so anxious that his skin crawled with it. He wanted to grasp her hands, speak her given name and search for the truth in her eyes, but he knew there were boundaries he could not cross with Prince Imrahil's only daughter.

Again she was silent for painfully long. It made him wonder. What concern or trepidation held her back? Had she not seen through him already – didn't she know that his heart and mind was bared to her so intimately at this point that she could safely reveal her own?

Maybe he was assuming too much in his curiosity and impatience. He could not actually say that he knew her. Just one such encounter as their chance meeting in the Houses of Healing did not earn him her inmost thoughts. Only her husband may one day have that right, and even he would have to work for it.

"Sire, believe me when I say that I do not seek to offend you, or lie to you. Please accept the words I gave you that night as a gift from one lonely wanderer in the night to another", she said at last, her normally collected voice full of anxiety.

He looked at her unhappily. At the same time, he ached to question her further, and yet the heavy apprehension in her voice alarmed him to the point of wanting to spare her.

She looked at him briefly and there seemed to be a deep sort of pain in her eyes; for some reason, this conversation was deathly difficult for her. Éomer could not understand why.

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I know my answers are frustrating to you, but I have no better to offer", she said, shaking her head as though in violent disagreement. Then, without another glance at him, she said, "I must get going."

They were nearly at the edge of the wood, which they had reached without him realising it. She walked swiftly away, head bowed, and her basket held closely to herself.

Éomer halted there under a great beech and with a troubled heart, he watched her go.

_To be continued._

* * *

**A/N: **Here is a new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

So, Éomer grows more and more taken with Lothíriel, even if he's not yet keen to admit it. However, he may have revealed more to Imrahil than he had intended. As for the lady, she keeps her secrets to herself.

Hildórien, Land of the Followers, was a place far in the east of Middle-earth, where first Men woke to life at the first sunrise. I think this might be a matter of very obscure lore at the time of the events of this story, but Lothíriel, being well-educated, is familiar with it and other histories that are in good part forgotten in the realms of Men.

Westernesse, or Númenor in the Elven tongue, was the land of the Men of the West, descendants of Edain of the First Age. It was an island raised from the sea by the Valar as a reward for Edain's struggles against Morgoth. The great island was indeed closest to Valinor of all mortal lands and sometimes, the shores of Elvenhome could be glimpsed from afar by those of keen sight. Númenor was a goodly, prosperous land, and outside Valinor (and excepting Lórien) it was the only place where _mellyrn _grew. I think the men of Númenor would have brought many plants out of their homeland to Middle-earth; in the _Fellowship of the Ring, _it is mentioned that _athelas _(or Kingsfoil) was one of these things. Dol Amroth, being an area where they settled before the fall and having favourable climate, might be a place where many things first brought out from Númenor would still be thriving.

Thank you for reading and reviewing, and don't forget to leave a comment, if you got time!

* * *

**chloeafter - **Thank you!

**Boramir - **Glad you liked it! I believe Lothíriel is very determined indeed, though she does compromise here and there, if only for the sake of her father's nerves.

**EStrunk - **Thanks! I think it's in good part what draws him to her, this natural way of treating him as a friend and not a highly eligible man.

And I do imagine that being left so impatient would be nerve-wrecking from him indeed. ;)

**fantasticferret - **Thank you!

**JennyVDM - **There may be more than a few, but we'll see about it! ;)

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx -** What her deal is remains to be seen for the time being!

**sai19 - **I think the mistaken identity and misunderstandings might have been a more obvious way to go, but on the other hand, I don't think it would have fit this story. Not to mention, I really can't see Lothíriel of this story letting it happen.

I may also be too obvious in saying this, but Éomer starts to think she's pretty when he realises how her treatment of him is different compared to the rest of young women he has met lately. ;)

**Megingjoro/aryaputra - **Thank you! I am very glad to hear it, and I hope that the story will continue to deliver!

**Jo - **Thanks!

**Leilal - **Me too, pal! But sadly, the muse for that one seems to be dead. :/

**Catspector - **Indeed - she's quite a puzzle, and he is quite transfixed.

**blasttyrant - **Glad you found the story eventually! :)

**SwanKnightoftheNorth -** I very much intend to continue.

Downloaded how? For what purposes?

**Wtiger - **Sounds like more people have been having that problem. But anyway, I'm glad you're liking the story!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Lady Lothíriel was avoiding him.

Éomer first suspected this at dinner after the hunt, when Amrothos wondered out loud why his sister had not joined them for the meal. He did not raise his head when he heard his friend complaining, but certainly, his mind was busy at work as he recalled the conversation in the woods and the way she had taken her leave of him. Something he had said had hit a nerve with her, and now she did not wish to be in his presence again.

It was a disheartening thought, but he tried to dismiss it right away. That she missed one dinner with her family did not necessarily mean anything and he was grossly flattering himself by assuming he was such an impactful figure in her life. Still, he was not yet entirely reassured. The confrontation did not sit well with him. It was as though a bad after-taste that lingered for a long time.

The next day his suspicion only grew. Lady Lothíriel was nowhere to be seen at breakfast, which perhaps was not a sign of anything yet, but neither did she join them when her brothers took Éomer to sailing. At this point, Erchirion was commenting on her absence, and that he had surely thought she would join them for the occasion.

"She complains so often we don't get to go sailing together these days, and yet she is refusing this very good opportunity for it!" Erchirion was saying to Elphir as they worked the ropes of their boat. Éomer overheard this but said nothing. He merely gritted his teeth.

He went over their conversation many times, trying to understand what he had said to disturb her in this way. Every time, he came to the same standstill: her manner had changed when he had asked her about the night after the Battle of Pelennor fields. However, he couldn't come up with an explanation for it, unless the memory was somehow evil to her. And this troubled him greatly. Perhaps it was foolish of him, but it bothered him intensely to think that she regretted the encounter which had been so comforting to him.

Thanks to his distraction, he didn't feel as anxious in a boat as he would have expected. However, his friends appeared to notice his mind was somewhere else, though they said nothing about it. Yet even with his preoccupation, Éomer did not miss the look Elphir and Erchirion exchanged between themselves. As for Amrothos, either he was oblivious to the matter, or thought their Rohirric friend was just mildly seasick.

It was already late afternoon when they got back. The three brothers had not spared Éomer, and so his clothes and hair were damp with sea-spray. The smell of salt clung even to his beard. Erchirion had told him to go and get a wash and a change of clothes. Seawater would not be pleasant once it dried.

However, he was far too anxious. He needed to speak to the lady, and the longer he went without seeing her, the more he burned to find her.

So, when he and Imrahil's sons had reached the castle again, Éomer pulled Amrothos aside for a private word. He felt that the youngest of three brothers was least likely to get suspicious or question his motives. While Amrothos could get insufferably curious when his interest was piqued, Éomer did not think this was that kind of an issue; most of the time, he seemed to be exasperated with his sister and her unusual manner.

"What is it, then?" Amrothos asked, brushing his damp hair back in a way that was probably meant to give off a roguish air to any lady who might be watching.

Éomer cleared his throat and took a deep breath. He didn't want to come across as too impatient – even Amrothos was bound to notice that.

"Could you tell me where one might find your sister at this time of day? I need to speak to her. I think something I said upset her yesterday, and I'd like to make it right", he explained in a lowered voice.

Amrothos looked at him curiously.

"What could you say to upset her? For all your bold ways, I don't think you would intentionally upset anybody in our family, and Lothíriel is not easily dismayed", he noted, raising an eyebrow.

Éomer frowned. How could he answer this question? He didn't want to lie, and yet the complete answer would require explanations he was not willing to give.

"That is what I wish to find out", he said lamely. It wasn't untrue, but he did not feel completely sincere, either. And that was a sensation he resented. Yet, at the same time, he felt strangely protective of her. The lady and the moments he had shared with her, however brief, were a matter so private that it felt wrong to reveal it even to her brother.

Amrothos grimaced, which at first took Éomer aback, but the young lord's next words had him relaxing again.

"You know, the way you insist on being so revoltingly gallant makes it so much more difficult for the rest of us", Amrothos said and punched his shoulder.

"It's not my fault you were raised by trolls. Or that you are too lazy to make effort", Éomer replied and smiled slightly.

"Hmph. You sound like Aunt Ivriniel", Amrothos grumbled and shook his head.

All the same, he did tell where the young king might discover the elusive lady. At this hour of day, she was likely to be found in her workshop. It was located near the kitchens in the north wing. Éomer headed straight that way, striding quickly and impatiently. Twice on the way he had to stop a servant to ask for directions, but eventually he found the spiral staircase Amrothos had said would lead down to the workshop. Speedily he descended it.

There was a wide, unusual chamber below. It was a little bit under the ground level, but thanks to many windows in the form of semicircles at the back wall, it was rather light even despite the veritable forest of all manner of herbs hanging from hooks and poles fastened to the ceiling. The herbs were tied in neat little bunches and at closer inspection, he noted they were all in various states of the drying process. On right hand side from the entrance, there was a hearth, about half a fathom broad, in which a merry little fire was burning. A small iron pot was bubbling away and in a pile near the hearth there were more pots of various sizes, neatly stacked inside each other where it was possible.

A large, white-scrubbed working table ruled the centre of the chamber. On it there were objects of so many kinds that he could hardly make sense of even half it. Scales and weights made from polished brass, a small tripod, a stand containing various empty vials, a stone mortar, a set of strange-looking glass containers, thongs of different sizes, spoons and ladles and other devices meant for uses he could only imagine, knives and scissors, a pile of fresh parchment and a writing easel, quills stored in a small jug, and too many pots, vats and vessels for him to count... one wall was covered by tall shelves and cupboards. Their surfaces contained even more of these manifold objects. There were a few books there and a pile of scrolls, certain small knick-knacks that looked to be personal treasures, a few unusual rocks and seashells, and a countless sealed glass jars, bottles and vials, all labelled and ordered. Few were made clear glass – most seemed to have a dark tint that masked the innards of these mysterious containers.

Éomer had never seen such a place. When he had heard of her workshop, the most he had imagined was some kind of a study full of books and scrolls, but not such a cave of wonders. With wide eyes he gazed around himself, taking it all in the best he could.

In the middle of it all she stood. She was dressed in a grey working dress and an old, stained apron. Her hair was in a neat, thick braid, wrapped around her head like a circlet. What an image she made! The daughter of one of the highest lords in the land, dressed as drably as any commoner and surrounded by things one might expect to find in a wizard's study! However, he only felt a fierce pride for her. It must take courage to pursue this occupation that many would deem unfit for a lady. In his eyes, it did not shame her: she still held herself with all the calm and dignity of a high lady of the House of Dol Amroth.

Lady Lothíriel was eyeing him warily. She stood still, hands resting on the table, and spoke no word. But her grey eyes were alive with a strange glimmer.

"My lady", he greeted her and bowed, suddenly feeling overly conscious of himself; he was probably even more shaggy than usual with the salt-water still clinging to his hair and clothes, his hands felt too big and clumsy, and his voice sounded rough and unlovely. It was quite absurd. He would be perfectly at ease with the finest ladies of Gondor, draped in silks and jewels, but this maiden in an old spotted apron made him feel like he had never spoken to a woman before.

He cleared his throat and continued to speak, "Forgive me for interrupting you without a warning. I did not know how else to reach you."

"My lord, how may I help you?" she asked him at length in a soft voice.

"By giving me a little of your time, perhaps", Éomer began and tried to smile. Why was this so difficult all of a sudden? He continued, "I wanted to talk to you, my lady. Make sure that everything is fine between us. This day, I couldn't help but feel that you were avoiding me. Have I offended you somehow?"

Why did he care so much? He barely knew her and he would hardly go pestering other women like this, even if he had time to notice they were avoiding him. Still, there was _that night_ and the sense of companionship. It had to mean something.

Lady Lothíriel lowered her eyes and stared at the great worktable. While it seemed to be covered in all kinds of objects, it didn't seem cluttered.

"My lord, please do not think I'm avoiding you because of some kind of a transgression. You could never offend me, I think", she replied slowly, almost reluctantly.

"Then what is the matter? Did I think wrongly when I suggested we might be friends?" he wanted to know.

She still stared down.

"Why do you think my friendship is worth your while?" she asked.

Éomer frowned. Often this woman confounded him: in some ways, she was still yet as mysterious as when he had not known her name. What could he say to her to make her believe that she could trust him?

"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked back and decided maybe a different kind of tactic was in order. So he began to move again and so approached her. At last she lifted her eyes, and he thought she almost looked terrified. But he picked up her hands as gently as he could with his own rough and large ones; he noted her fingers were stained purple, probably by some leaf or herb she had been preparing. What a singular woman. Was there any like her among the noble maidens of the South?

"Lady, what troubles you so?" he asked her in soft tones. He searched her eyes, hoping to find some clue in them as to what she was thinking. She stared straight back, wide and shocked and somehow lost. And then she looked down at their joined hands. Did he just imagine it, or was there wonder on her features?

"Your hands... they feel like..." she uttered softly, but suddenly fell silent and shook her head. She withdrew her fingers from his grasp and turned away. Without looking at him, she spoke quietly, "I wish I could explain, but I don't know if you would understand. It is too difficult."

"I can understand quite a bit", Éomer said, unfazed by her strange reactions. His resolution to get to the core of this thing was not yet shaken. "My lady, if I have not offended you, then why can't I seek your company? I don't believe you truly wish to avoid me. Maybe, if you explained what this all is about, we could figure it out together."

She glanced at him over her shoulder and he thought her eyes looked damp and wild. It made him so anxious, he felt like his skin was crawling.

"Please, Sire. You must believe me", she said in a strangled voice.

But Éomer pressed on. He narrowed his eyes as he realised that it was not some insult or anger or genuine dislike for him, but fear that directed her in this moment. It surprised him to say the least and he burned more than ever for a straight answer.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked her insistently.

She was silent for a long moment, face downcast, hands fidgeting restlessly before her, and once more he wanted to reach for her in some sort of a consolation. But she was troubled enough as it was, and he wasn't certain his touch wouldn't make it worse.

When she spoke, her voice as pained and final.

"Of you."

His hands fell to his sides. The words hit him as though she had slapped him across the face and shock spread like ice, smothering his earnest desire to understand what disturbed her so.

"I... I never thought..." he stammered in astonishment and dismay; he could not have guessed how deeply it would dishearten him to hear that she was scared of him. Something savage turned and shifted rapidly in his chest, so violent as though it was meaning to tear him open.

Momentarily he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Disappointment was an actual bitter taste in his mouth when he struggled to speak, "I apologise. It was not my intention to oppress you in any way. I shall take my leave, and not bother you again. Please forgive me."

And with that he turned around, and he walked as fast as his feet would carry him. Something like rage and grief beat against his skull, for it felt like with those two words, she had taken back everything, those strange words that had puzzled and still encouraged him, and even the comfort she had offered to him in that grim, lightless day when Théoden had died.

* * *

What Éomer felt in those moments immediately after the ill-fated confrontation could not be easily described. There was simply too much. The inside of his skull seemed to hold a storm in it, bitter and furious and explosive. Had any man stopped him then, he might have struck that bugger down without a single word.

He did the only thing he could, that still made any sense to him: strode straight to the stables and began to saddle his horse. His movements were sharp and speedy. His body followed reflexes etched deep into his muscles by years and years of practice and habit. No thought yet entered his burning mind, except for how truly, cuttingly disappointed he was.

Firefoot sensed his mood and moved anxiously, stomping his feet and tossing his great head. His fierce snorting had the other steeds shifting in their stables, too, and the Amrothian stable-hands tried to calm them while throwing astonished glances at the Rohirric king. But Éomer swung himself in the saddle in one quick motion, and he rode straight out, never minding the alarmed Éothain who ran next to the stallion and demanded him to slow down and wait until his guards could prepare their own horses. He fell quickly behind, shouting obscenities in Rohirric after his king as he rode out of the castle like on the wings of a storm.

But Éomer did not care. What villain could catch him now, and what arrow might find him when Firefoot flew like the wind, bearing him far from the site of his disappointment and humiliation? Yet, as Imrahil's home fell further and further behind, emotions finally began to take form and name.

_She was afraid of him._ The thought was appalling, not just because the only people he wanted to scare were the enemies of Rohan, but also because it hinted something quite alarming about how poorly he knew himself. Was he truly so out of touch with reality? Was he actually the kind of hideous brute that even such a woman of solid character would shun him in dread? Who was he, then, if not the man he had always thought himself?

Éomer had at times taken pride in his ability to rightfully judge people and their characters, even if they tried to hide the truth. Yet, if he had judged himself so ill, how could he possibly think he knew any better when it came to others?

Wind whipped against his face, harsh and moist; there was rain in it, rolling from the deeps of the sea. He would have welcomed it even now. It made his eyes water and he brushed the back of his hand against his face. For the first time he actually looked around to see where he was. Somehow he wasn't even surprised to see those cliffs again, rising before him – changeless against the push and pull of the tide.

Only a few days ago he had seen her standing there, looking at him as though she had been waiting for his arrival... Éomer shook his head. What did he know about her, or about anything? He recalled how happy he had been to finally discover her again, and how he had thought he might finally be starting to understand the mystery of this woman.

Turned out there was no mystery. There was just one blind, stupid man who had let himself expect too much.

It was there at the cliffs Éothain caught up with him.

"Éomer!" he bellowed out as he raced after his king. He had not saddled his horse, which explained why he had got here so quickly. The captain's face was as stormy as the dark clouds over the horizon. "What the damn hell are you doing? How many times do I have to explain you can't just go riding into the blue when you feel like it?"

"Quit it, Éothain. I'm not in the mood", Éomer growled, turning Firefoot around. The stallion was still restless and he danced under his Rider, but the young king hardly noticed it.

"And I'm not in the mood to go chasing after you without any warning, so I guess neither of us are going to get what we want", Éothain snapped back. No matter how black Éomer's mood got, Éothain was one man he had never been able to intimidate.

The captain's tone was full of challenge and his steed pranced around Firefoot, as though to emphasise Éothain's point. The two stallions snapped at one another before their Riders checked them again. But Éomer felt abruptly weary. One confrontation a day was quite enough for him, and so he did not answer his friend with equal ire and temper. He just groaned and rubbed his face.

"What's the matter? Has something happened?" Éothain asked at length. His tone was less furious and his steed was calming down, too.

There was no sense in trying to keep it from Éothain. The captain would get the truth one way or the other. So the young king let out a sigh and with as few words as he was able, he explained the sorry affair with the lady, although he made no mention of the meeting in the Houses of Healing. A violent shiver went down his spine. He couldn't think of her name without feeling wretched.

The captain and his horse were both still. At first his blue eyes were wide and wondering, but gradually they narrowed, and Éomer could practically see the wheels turning inside the man's head. And naturally, he would focus on the absolutely wrong thing.

"Éomer", said the captain in a soft, even voice, "Have you considered you're feeling this way and racing your horse on the shore like a madman because you're falling in love with that girl?"

The younger of the two Rohirrim grimaced.

"And have you considered you're full of horseshit?" he asked back, but almost immediately he felt guilty for being so snide. Was he speaking so because he didn't want to admit Éothain was on to something, or because he was simply exhausted with everybody obsessing over his love-life? The latter option was surely the safer one, because otherwise, he would have to examine certain feelings that would surely turn out quite painful, now that she had made her stance clear.

And yet... if he didn't go down that path, then he truly was as clueless and dishonest as he had felt while riding down here.

Éothain scoffed, but without contempt. He was much too used to the flares of his liege-lord's temper to be dismayed or disheartened.

"Do you think I'm blind? You're not as subtle as you think. From the moment that lady joined the party, you've seen nothing but her. Lad, I've known you almost as long as you've been alive, and in all that time you've never looked at anybody the way you look at her", he stated calmly as he lead his horse next to Firefoot.

Éomer was frowning and staring at the sea. The clouds were rolling as a wide, black front towards the land. Soon they would veil the sun and then rain would fall, covering the land in soft, grey mist. But he could hardly see any of this, or the sunlight still glittering on the waves near the shore, or the gulls riding the wind towards inland. He knew it was useless to try and argue with his captain. The man had seen what he had seen.

"It doesn't matter how I might feel", he spoke at last, eyes still fixed on the waves. "If I scare her, then that's the end of it."

He made the mistake of looking at his friend and saw a strange, heated expression on the bearded face of Éothain.

"But what if it's not you she's scared of, but what you make her feel?" he asked.

"That's absurd", Éomer muttered. A lot of things were as of late, as it seemed. He scowled at his friend, "What do you know about these Gondorian women?"

"More than you, as always", Éothain replied and reached to pat his arm. "Let's get back. It's going to rain soon, and Imrahil is probably already thinking you rode into the sea in a fit of madness."

The young king grunted something in response and followed his friend back towards the city. Somehow, as he ever did, Éothain had managed to cheer him up a little bit and ease off the worst of his black mood. Whether the man was also right about _her_ – that it was her own feelings she feared rather than him – Éomer dared not guess.

Even so, he would be lying if he tried to claim that the idea didn't cause a sudden, hopeful glimmer ignite where previously only anger and grief had raged.

Reluctantly, he had to admit Éothain could be on to something. Of all the young women Éomer had met since the Ring War, Lady Lothíriel was indeed the first who might have his heart.

* * *

Night came but Éomer could not sleep.

It was still raining. It had rolled over the land like a heavy, dim curtain. The bright green of early summer lost its richness under the grey clouds hanging low. The sea looked even more restless, and more dangerous. At times, the wind howled from the sea. Then the patter of rain against the windows of his bedchamber became like a drum-beat – a savage sound that made him feel like the fragile glass was moments away from breaking.

But he was not kept awake merely by the weather, for the events of the day kept on marching in circles inside his head. Over and over he returned to her workshop in his memory, went over the words that had so shocked him, and then recalled the sharp, painful emotions he had felt upon thinking she was scared of him. It was some time since he had last lost himself in such an overwhelming way.

It would have been one thing, hadn't Éothain come after him on the shore, opening his eyes to something new and alarming. _From the moment that lady joined the party, you've seen nothing but her. _

With a sigh he turned on his back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. No matter how he turned the matter over and again in his mind, he could not come up with a better explanation. She had haunted his every waking moment ever since he had discovered her on the cliffs. And even before: this past year, no other woman had occupied his mind as often as her. That was without knowing her name.

_Oh, Béma. What is happening to me?_

Unable to lay still any longer, he got up in a swift motion and began to look for his clothes in the dark room. If he stayed in this dim quiet any longer, he would lose it. Perhaps some fresh air might help.

His guards were surprised to see him up and about. It felt unnecessary to have them watching his door here in Dol Amroth, but some things could be helped. Éomer reassured them he was only going to take a short walk, perhaps make a turn in the garden, and that he would be quite all right by himself. The pair exchanged a look but they did not try to follow him.

The halls of Imrahil's castle were quiet at this hour. Here and there a torch or a candle was burning, but mostly it was dark, and in this downcast night the place felt vast and ancient and full of shadows. It was not the kind of dimness that would fill Meduseld's halls at night-time. This was cool and foreign and Éomer felt unpleasantly like invisible eyes were watching him.

The uneasy feeling passed when he finally reached the door he had been looking for. Thankfully at this point he had a slightly better idea of where he was going and so he did not spend too much time wandering the maze-like corridors. With a breath he stepped outside.

The wind had settled and the rain had turned into a gentle drizzle. The air was like a cool balm and he felt like he could smell every green blade of grass in it, washed clean by the storm. He sensed the morning would be fairest yet he had seen on these shores.

He didn't mind the gentle rainfall that fell on his head. It was not as cold or savage as rain could be in the Mark, and the wrath of the storm had passed for the most part. Éomer lifted his face to upwards and felt already lighter.

If the castle had been quiet, the gardens were even more so. A sheen of rain-water covered every leaf and branch. Most flowers had hidden themselves from the rain and the night, but at one corner he saw strange white flowers that bloomed despite the time and weather. Perhaps one wise lady might know what flower would behave so strangely, he thought to himself, before he recalled she might not be willing to tell him even that much.

He walked on. It was not long that he came to a round, vaulted pavilion that stood in the crossroads of four paths. There under its domed cover he saw a figure standing, so still that at first he thought it was a statue. But then the shape moved, perhaps hearing the gravel crackling under his boots as he walked.

It was her. Of course it was her. If Éomer had discovered any other southern lady here at this hour, he would have wondered. But Lady Lothíriel lived indeed by her own schedule, following convictions unknown to him.

There was not much light but he could tell she had turned to look at him. For a moment he stood still. Should he turn back and leave? Was his presence unwanted? But even as he was still thinking of this, she moved again and came to stand at the pavilion's entrance that directly faced him.

"Aren't you cold in the rain, Sire?" she asked him softly, as though no ill words had ever been exchanged between them.

"Not really. It's a gentle sort of rain", he replied warily. Béma, would he ever make any sense of this woman? Did he even want to?

She tilted her head and looked at him as though she too was trying to figure him out. But whether she had any better luck at it than him, he couldn't say.

"May I speak to you, my lord? I understand if you do not wish to hear anything I have to say, but I must at least ask", she spoke suddenly.

"What would you speak of, lady?" he asked back.

"Of remorse", she said in a tone uncommonly harsh for her. She looked down as she continued, "And how horrible I feel for the way I insulted you."

Éomer blinked. Here they were again at the starting line, and he understood her as little as he ever had. Yet his curiosity burned stronger than ever and so after only a moment's hesitation he began to approach her.

She moved back so that he could enter the pavilion as well. It was a pretty little structure, made entirely of white stone. Between every entrance, of which there were four, were long stone benches. In the middle there was a basin filled with clear water, in which flowers and petals of different sorts were gently floating. He could easily imagine generations of Ladies of Dol Amroth sitting here in the shade, living charmed lives far away from the wars of North and East.

"Speak, then", he commanded, crossing his arms across his chest. He became suddenly aware of the fact he had only donned on a soft white shirt and the rain had mostly glued it against his skin. He was far from being decently attired, but the lady didn't seem to realise it.

"I wanted to say I am sorry", she began, looking up at him with wide, unhappy eyes. Before herself she was fidgeting her hands. With effort, she continued to talk, "It was never my desire to cause you pain. I have wished you happiness from the moment we first met. But you ask so many questions that I can't answer, and I suppose I felt cornered... so I said something that I knew you would not understand. Or, you would take it as a sign that I was no good. You would go your way, like you should, my lord."

He listened to her every word keenly. He felt there was honesty behind each word, and yet he did not understand what she meant. There was so much that confused him. Why did it sound like she had purposefully tried to drive him off, even though it seemed to cause her pain even now?

For pain there was in her tone and in what little he could see of her face. It rested on her slender shoulders like a heavy burden. Why would she choose it instead of his friendship?

"But the way you looked at me when I said it... it was like I had driven a dagger through your heart right there. I could not stand it, Sire. So I needed to talk to you and let you know that I'm the one who did wrong and it was not because I was afraid of _you_", she went on and quickly glanced at him face, as if to check whether he was still watching her. Then she lowered her eyes again and fixed them at his feet.

"Then what does scare you so that you would act this way?" Éomer asked. He wasn't certain what to think and what to feel, except profound wonder and confusion.

She seemed to take a deep breath before she answered.

"Many things may scare me, Sire, but not you. _Never_ you. It wasn't to say that I don't trust you, or that I think you are a perilous man for a woman to be friends with. I am afraid because you make me lose my caution, and because I am not as sensible as I should be in your presence. I am afraid of the power you hold over me", she explained, and at the end of it, her voice was little more than a whisper. Her head was hanging down in shame and regret.

His mood softened. It was like some lingering sheen of ice thawed at last, for he was not a cruel man who refused to forgive when apologies were so sincerely offered. Ever so gently, he reached his hand to her and lifted her chin so that he could meet her eyes. But her skin was like warm porcelain against his rough warrior's fingers, and once again he felt that strange tremor passing through his very sinews.

"Thank you for your words, lady. Please know I'm not angry anymore – you are forgiven", he spoke and was surprised to hear his voice was so collected. "I admit I was disturbed to think that I scared you. But please, my lady, you must know that you don't need to perform or check your true nature before me. I told you that I feel like we might be friends, and I still believe so. There is no reason why friends should feel like they ought to be cautious between one another."

"You are kind", she said softly and studied his face intently. "And one thing that I said before is true: the gift of your friendship is an honour indeed. Yet, I wonder... is it truly just my friendship that you desire?"

The question was pointed indeed, and it was then Éomer felt like he actually _saw_ her. Until now, it was as though wariness and doubt had veiled his eyes. But with her question he took notice of her long, dark hair spilling down her back like rivers of finest silk. Her robe was white, but it glimmered faintly whenever light hit it, and it left her shoulders bare. Her neck was delicate but proud, her collarbones so finely sculpted that he ached to trace that line with his fingers, and he could not help it when the gentle swell of her breasts drew his eye. How soft and inviting her skin looked! But quickly he sought her face again, even though he found no refuge there. For her eyes were bright and piercing, and her mouth, so sweet and full, was no less captivating.

She was fair. More so, in fact, than he had dared to admit before now, and he was a damn fool for even thinking his feelings for her were not growing.

He swallowed hard before he answered.

"Maybe. Or maybe not", Éomer whispered. And she was staring straight at him those blasted, knowing eyes, and he couldn't stand it any longer. So he reached his hand to her again, brushing dark hair behind her ear... he settled his fingers there only a second before he bent down his head to kiss her.

Lady Lothíriel was soft, and warm, and she trembled against him, but did not push him away. So many times until now he had felt like she was a puzzle he couldn't even begin to solve, that behind every mystery lay another. But in the kiss, everything else melted away and she was just a young woman, bright and fair and surprised to have a man kiss her so. She tasted like night-dew and honey and the smell of her skin, sweet and spicy, made his head spin with want. How he burned to take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless and dizzy!

Béma, he was falling indeed.

And for one brief, blissful moment she responded. Still trembling, the lady added pressure on his lips, and her hand brushed against his cheek like a bird's wing. The other took support of his chest, trembling against the wet shirt – she had to feel the heat glowing through to greet her, just as he felt the gentle pressure of her fingers. But when his self-control began to waver and he added a hint of a tongue into the kiss, she seemed to snap out of it. She let out a small cry, looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes and took a graceless step back.

"F-forgive me", she stammered, turned, and then fled the pavilion as swift as a shadow before moonlight.

Éomer followed her as far as the entrance and stood there, leaning against the stone archway and watching her run. She flew like some spirit of the night, swift and soundless upon the wet grass. His heart was still a frenzied drum-beat in his chest and it showed no signs of slowing down. A smile, broad and fierce, began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

Then he leapt down on the grass, and he laughed out loud. It grew, until he was almost howling with such a joy as he had not felt in many, many months.

And even if half the castle had woken up to see him dancing in the rain, he would not have cared for a single second.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **And here is a new chapter! I did not think I would be publishing this at this time, but turns out you got time for such things while physical distancing. I hope you guys are safe and healthy while this unfortunate situation goes on. If you want to chat or send questions, you can do so here at or at tumblr. You can find me at tumblr under the same username as here.

I very much enjoyed writing this chapter, especially the part with Lothíriel's workshop and the scene at the end. I hope you enjoyed it as well! Éomer is very much smitten with this girl, indeed. ;)

Thank you for reading and reviewing. Please let me know what you think. Your comments are more valuable than you know.

* * *

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **I think Amrothos has this case of where he has found a new cool friend (Éomer) and his younger sibling is being unnecessarily embarrassing!

**sploosh93 - **He has realised it indeed! ;)

**Catspector - **I think he's admitting it now! And she may not be so indifferent to it anymore!

**Jo - **Indeed - hearing that conversation can't be heartening. But they have not realised how Lothíriel might react to Éomer!

**EStrunk - **You are quite right - a story must have its obstacles to be interesting. Meanwhile, Éothain may not have such a job before him as one might ahve expected...

**rossui - **That is good! A writer in me is glad that you are wondering. ;) I'm glad you liked it!

**Megingjoro - **Thank you! It is something I've taken particular care this time, and I find it is very rewarding for myself as well!

**Boramir - **Interesting insights! I wish I could comment on them more, but I don't want to spoil anything. So I'll just thank you for your comment. :)

**sai19 - **I hope you had a wonderful birthday, and hopefully you will continue to enjoy this story!

**blasttyrant - **Thank you! It has been a pleasure being inside his head!

**Serni - **Thank you for your comments! I'm glad to hear you like this story so much. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It was over an hour later that Éomer finally returned to his rooms, wet from the rain but elated of mood. His guards looked puzzled to see him grinning at them, and probably wondered what sort of a midnight walk had he been having. But he told them good night and closed the door behind himself. He undressed, letting his wet clothes fall on the floor, and then he collapsed in the bed with a faint chuckle. He knew he was still too giddy to fall asleep, but the lady had gone and Éothain would not appreciate him charging in the middle of night, even if it was with news of this kind.

With a deep sigh, he turned on his back and stared up at the ceiling. It was clear now, as few things had ever been. There was only one way this could go. He was going to ask for her hand in marriage. In his heart of hearts he knew it: this strange maiden was the one and Éomer would have none other.

Yes, there was the issue of her father. The young king had not forgotten the conversation between Imrahil and Elphir and their apparent opposition of her marrying him. It did not discourage Éomer, because it seemed the choice hang on her, not her kinsmen. They expected she would tell him no if he were bold enough to ask her to be his wife. But tonight she had started to kiss him back, and even if nothing else was clear about Lady Lothíriel, at least Éomer knew she wanted him, too. What else could it mean when she said that she lost her caution when he was close?

The thought made him so eager once more, he had to get up and take a turn around the room. Restless energy coursed through him like a heartbeat. While the sensation itself was not unfamiliar to him, this time it was light and glad and hopeful. For so many months the thought of picking up his life and doing the things required of him had been so dreadful, but now he wanted to race to meet his future head on.

After a few rounds in the guest rooms, he went back to the bed again. Only yesterday, he would not have doubted the words of Imrahil and his first-born. However after his late meeting with the lady, Éomer had a strong feeling she might just say yes. Would Imrahil still refuse the proposal? Moreover, why did the prince think it was so impossible for his daughter to wed the King of the Mark? As far politics went, it was an excellent match. It would strengthen the alliance between Rohan and Gondor and forge new ties. So close to the Ring War, it would be easier to present this choice of a bride to his own people and he would be spared from squabbling factions demanding to know why their preferred candidate was not to be queen. His family and hers were already friendly and close. Lady Lothíriel was foremost among the noble ladies of the land, she was kind and wise, and his heart had already turned to her. With all the other ladies he had considered over the course of this past year, the idea of affection had been but a lame hope for some distant day in future.

All in all, he could not think of a more suitable woman. With her in his sight, he cared not for any other option. And for better or for worse, he knew he was going to measure all other ladies against her and find them wanting.

These were the thoughts in his mind as Éomer finally drifted off to dreams.

* * *

The new morning was as fair as Éomer had guessed. Rain had washed the city clean, or so it felt like; the very air had a fresh, clean smell to it. Had leaves of grass and tree ever looked so green, or flowers so fair? And the sky was bright as the Sun began her climb, first blushing at her arrival and then growing into a soft, gentle blue.

Éomer was up before dawn, though he had stayed awake late. This time he spared the poor, long-suffering Éothain and actually took a couple of guards along for his morning ride. But they did not go very far from the castle, as he meant to join Imrahil and his family for breakfast. Still, a fast, vigorous gallop along the shore should take off Firefoot's edge for a bit. Perhaps his own, too.

His own mood was high and hopeful. For _she_ was still with him, a sweet burning against his lips and his hand. Éomer did not yet know what his next step would be, but it did not worry him too much. He would figure it out as he went along.

The ride was a very good one and he returned with his guards to the castle, feeling energetic and eager. Dawn had passed and the morning sun burned bright in the busy courtyard. There he also saw a familiar maiden with her basket.

Their eyes locked and she halted. Then colour spread across her cheeks and she lowered her eyes – embarrassed or shy, he wasn't sure, but he was very much endeared.

Éomer dismounted in a quick motion and with a few long strides, he was before her.

"Good morning, my lady. I hope you are well today?" he asked her, quiet and friendly. He didn't want to make her feel cornered, although now that they were face to face again, he very much desired to kiss her, and carry on from where they had left last night.

The colour on her cheeks deepened.

"Good morning, Sire", she replied and curtsied, maintaining her grace even in the middle of her dazed state. "I am fine, thank you. As I hope you are as well."

"Indeed, lady. I hardly recall when I last felt so excellent. Last night was... it was like a dream", he said and studied her face keenly. But her eyes were fixed on the ground and he couldn't really see her expression.

"... it was lovely, yes", she uttered at length, when he had already started to think she might not say anything. At her words, his heart leapt. She had liked the kiss, too!

"Is it too bold of me to hope something like it might happen again before I leave?" Éomer asked, aching to reach for her. He fought the urge and pressed his hands together behind his back. They were too exposed. If he touched Lady Lothíriel, Imrahil would know of it before half an hour had passed.

Finally she looked up. Her sea-grey eyes, previously so calm and sure, were wide and hesitant. He gazed back and smiled, hoping it might encourage her.

"No. It's not too bold", she whispered.

His smile grew and he bowed at her. How he was able to maintain such a proper front while his entire being was singing with joy and happiness, and all he wanted was to show her just how it felt like, he was not sure.

"Then I hope to speak to you again soon, my lady", Éomer said and allowed himself a small transgression: he picked up her hand and pressed a slow kiss against her knuckles. Even Imrahil could not blame him of being disrespectful. Before he let her hand go, he took a deep breath in, savouring the inviting smell of her skin.

Fingertips briefly pressed against his own. Then the lady curtsied, muttered something that sounded like _"gooddaym'lord",_ and then hurried away much like she had last night.

For a bit he stood there, basking in the sensation of joy and success.

This was going much, much better than he would have expected only at this time yesterday.

* * *

Lady Lothíriel did not approach Éomer for the rest of the day, at least not before the dinner. She conversed with him and the rest of the company as normally as ever, warm towards her family and pleasant if a bit distant with the young king However, before she took her leave, her hand pressed briefly against his own – so quick and stealthy that her family did not notice. He felt her put a small piece of parchment into his hand, ad when he thought he could read it without alarming Imrahil and his sons, Éomer quickly scanned its contents. There in a graceful hand read: _Meet me tonight in the garden._

He had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning.

It was not easy to maintain a straight face while he was so impatient for the night. So he retired early and tried to distract himself by writing a letter to Éowyn, but even that task was difficult. Often he got up from the writing desk and walked around in the rooms, and then halting at one of the windows or the balcony to peer out, anxious for the night to come.

It was strange, this burning feeling that only seemed to grow every time he saw her. He thought of all the times he had been snappy and short-tempered with his friends and advisers, and even that conversation with Éothain shortly before the journey to Dol Amroth. It was quite amusing in retrospect, especially his conviction that he was somehow immune to these feelings. No doubt, once Éothain found out, the captain would take great pleasure in reminding him at every possible chance.

But that was getting ahead of himself. He did not even know yet what was to come out of this. Imrahil himself apparently thought his daughter was going to refuse advances if such were made. However, Éomer did not think she would be inviting him to meet her in the middle of the night if she was going to turn him down. At least his experience with women and clandestine encounters in the dark suggested a very different motivation.

At last night fell. It was a fair night, the air was warm and the moon shone brightly in the sky. It was both exciting and dangerous. In such a light, it would not be easy to keep their meeting secret. Yet he could no more stop himself from going as he could stop breathing.

His guards were less surprised, but still troubled to let him go. Éomer tried not to hurry. It would seem odd and raise questions if he came across other late wanderers. But it was not easy to keep his pace calm and even, for his heart raced anxiously and there was a beat in his very bones, a desire so old and yet so new that he could barely contain it.

Somehow he got to the stone pavilion quietly and unseen. And there in its shadow he saw her waiting, a still dark figure that only moved when he approached. She started to curtsy, but Éomer was past such formalities, especially now that they were alone. So, just like he had ached to do since this morning, he reached his arms to her and pulled her close. Lady Lothíriel gasped softly and then she fell against him, warm and trembling – a sensation so sublime it was enough to bring a man to his knees.

"My lady", he muttered into her dark hair. It was soft and fragrant against his cheek and it made him tremble, too.

"We've got to stop meeting like this, Sire", she whispered back, and her voice was shaky even as she tried to make light of it.

"Must we, really? If you refuse me a glimpse of you, then I will come looking for you", he told her and pulled back slightly, so that he could see her face. There was a lovely blush on her cheeks and her eyes glimmered like stars.

"You make a powerful argument. But then, I am not as strong as you might think, my lord", she said and pulled at his hands. He followed her to sit down on one of the stone benches. His heart still beat fast, and he could not take his eyes off of her face, or his hand from her own.

Béma, he really was quite hopelessly in love with this girl, wasn't he?

And so he leant closer to her, breathing in her scent and savouring the moment just before, and then... her mouth was just as soft and supple as he remembered. It was a wonder. She was all things soft and delicate, and yet she let him, a savage warlord of the North, kiss her so! How odd he must feel to her, with his hard hands and weather-beaten skin and beard, trimmed as it was. And yet she did now cower or pull back, or look at him in disgust when it ended. She remained close, one hand against his chest, and other clasped inside his own. Her eyes were wide and bright as she regarded him.

"My father would kill us both if he knew", she whispered.

"Well, I'm not scared. I'd gladly take a thrashing from him if it means I get to see you", he told her and stole another kiss from her lips. Doubtless he would receive more than just a thrashing, should Imrahil become aware of this, but he was not really able to worry about it.

"You are a reckless fool, Sire, and you have infected me with your madness", she replied, but kissed him back nonetheless.

It was delightful, and had it depended on him, they would stay there the whole night – even risking discovery.

"You like it and you know it", he muttered hoarsely against her mouth, and would have deepened the kiss, if she had not pressed him back gently.

"Even if I did, I do not wish my father to thrash you – or lock me inside some villa until I'm an old maid", she told him sternly and got up on her feet, though he was loath to let her go.

"Must you go already?" he asked her and held her hand tightly inside his own. She tugged at it gently.

"Yes, and you must let me. If the guards find us..." she uttered, not finishing the sentence. But it was not necessary. He could very well imagine the repercussions. With a sigh, he let go of her hand.

"Will you at least come again tomorrow?" Éomer asked, eyes fixed on her, to drink in this last glimpse before another long and lonely night.

"... yes", she said softly and briefly brushed her fingers across his cheek. "Yes, I will come."

And with that, she took her leave again, and Éomer let out a deep breath. He closed his eyes and touched the spot where her fingers had whispered, as though he could press the memory of that touch into his very flesh.

It was a long time before he sought his own bed.

* * *

"Say, Amrothos, what's something your ladies here in Belfalas would like to receive as a gift?"

Éomer made his question the next morning when the company was dispersing from breakfast. His friend scratched his head and cast him a narrow look.

"What's this talk about ladies? You've got some sweetheart back home you'd like to bribe?" he asked back.

Éomer just shrugged and smiled. He did not get the sense that Amrothos was on to him and Lothíriel, and as long as that was true, the young lord was probably not going to be overly interested in the subject. Which, of course, made him an ideal source of advice in Éomer's current task.

Amrothos was a peculiar one among his siblings. It seemed all Imrahil's children had the gift of keen sight and seeing to the core of things, but Amrothos only cared to use this gift when his interest was provoked, and most men would probably judge it was by the most trivial things. Yet perhaps that was the lot of a third son, who could not expect to inherit riches or power. Then again, under Aragorn's rule, this too might change.

"Well, Dol Amroth is famous for its pearls. You can never go wrong with them, or so I am told. I'd imagine your northern maidens have never seen the like of our pearls", said Amrothos with a slight smile. No doubt he was thinking of some lewd joke.

"What of your sister? Does she like pearls?" Éomer asked and hoped he sounded nonchalant.

"I suppose. She wears them often enough", Amrothos said with a shrug, seemingly unaware of what his friend was thinking of.

"Right", said the young king and directed a slight smile at his friend, "I think I would like to purchase some, but I have no idea of where to go look for pearls in this city. Would you mind acting as a guide?"

"Not at all. I could use a walk", Amrothos said and stretched himself before casting a keen look at the Rohir, "In exchange, I hope you will agree to spar with me once we get back. I can't let you leave this city without disarming you in the training ring at least once."

Éomer cast a superior smile at his friend.

"Keep trying, Amrothos."

* * *

"So, what's going on in that head of yours today? You look so chipper these days, I'm starting to get worried."

The question was spoken by Éothain lounging in a chair nearby. He and his king were in Éomer's rooms, preparing for a great ball Imrahil had prepared for his honour tonight. It was something of a farewell party, though the young king would not be departing until the day after tomorrow. He had been in Dol Amroth for nearly two weeks now, and while he would gladly have stayed for two more, duty was calling. His absence from the Mark would already be felt in Edoras.

The young king cast a smile at his friend and pulled on his ceremonial tunic after making sure it was unwrinkled. How could he not be glad? For three nights now, he had been sneaking out into the garden. There in the pavilion, he had been meeting a fair maiden with sea-grey eyes and loveliest smile. During daytime, their interactions were perfectly normal and proper, but there in the shadows he would pull her in his arms, hold her to himself as they whispered in the dark, and then at last kiss her like he ached to do for all those long, agonising hours of the day.

She never stayed for very long, knowing full well what an uproar would rise if they were found like so, and perhaps partly because she still had not lost all caution. However, Éomer knew it was a tremendous thing that she came at all.

No wonder he had betrayed himself to Éothain.

"You should be glad to hear this, old man", he said lightly as he picked up his belt. "I'm going to propose to a lady tonight."

Èothain, who had been drinking some wine, spluttered and nearly choked. Éomer was quick to go and beat his back until he could clear his throat. Blinking tears from his eyes, the captain stared up at him.

"Seriously? You aren't jesting?" he asked in a voice that was still thin from nearly suffocating.

"Would I dare, knowing the repercussions I would face?" Éomer asked back.

Éothain blinked some more, studied him and sat back once again.

"Let me guess. Imrahil's daughter?" he asked eventually.

"Aye. Am I that transparent?"

"Hmph. I knew it. You've been aflutter over that one ever since she made an appearance. I seem to recall certain somebody saying such a thing would never happen", Éothain said and smiled. "So, you and her have made up after your, hmm, disagreement the other day? I expect you wouldn't be having these plans otherwise."

Éomer could not help but grin.

"We have indeed. Turns out you had the right idea about what she really was scared of in the end", he answered.

"Of course I did. Who do you think I am?" Éothain asked and looked insufferably self-satisfied. "I can't imagine it's easy for these well-bred maidens of the South to admit they fancy a wild Northman like yourself."

"I wouldn't say it's that. She's… I think she's very solid. She knows what she wants and she's not fragile – not in the way you would think. I rather believe it's some sense of duty to her home, and her love for it, that held her back", said the young king and took a sip of wine from his own cup, which sat on a table nearby.

"I will take your word for it. Have you asked Imrahil for her hand yet?" Éothain asked and leant back in his chair, idly fingering his cup between his hands.

"No", Éomer said and for the first time, he felt somehow reluctant. He had not uttered a word to the man and he had to admit it didn't feel right. He didn't like to be scheming in this way behind his friend's back. On the other hand, what else could he do? Imrahil would say no. And when he thought of saying goodbye to _her_ and knowing he could never have her... well, the idea just terrified him.

He swallowed hard against a bitter taste that had suddenly filled his mouth. He glanced at Éothain, who looked dubious, and continued to speak, "It's not like that. All will be revealed to him in due time. I just want to speak with her first."

"You know, he might not like it. Things are done differently here in Gondor. Are you sure he won't take offence?" Éothain wanted to know.

"I don't think he would. He knows I mean no disrespect. I just... Éothain, I want that woman more than I've ever wanted anything. No, don't look at me like that – I don't mean it like she's some common wench. I respect and admire her, I want her to be my wife, and I can't stand the idea of being parted from her", Éomer said fiercely, combing back his hair with more force and vigour than was necessary.

"Béma, you really have fallen head over heels", Éothain marvelled and shook his head.

"Aren't you happy?" Éomer asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I am! At the best, I thought, you would find some noble maiden of a good family and upbringing. That you have also taken a liking to her is beyond what I dared to hope", said the captain with a wave of his hand. Then a grin dawned on his good-natured face, "Éowyn is going to love this, you know."

"Yes, I'm sure you will be eager to settle whatever bets you made with her, but please, at least let me be the one to tell her. And that is only if the lady will say yes, and if her father will comply", Éomer said sternly and sat down to pull on his boots.

"Well, if Imrahil gives you trouble, let me know. If you need to plot an elopement, I'm game", Éothain said and shrugged. He gave the young king a keen stare, "So, what's the plan for the evening?"

"I'm not sure yet. Try to get her some place private, then ask for her hand... I'll figure it out. Don't enjoy yourself too well, Éothain. I may need some help", said Éomer and he rose up on his feet.

"Of course. Always happy to help a brother in arms", said the captain. He got up as well, put aside his wine, and came to adjust his friend's collar as though a man sending his son to fight an important battle. Then he took a step back and gave a critical eye to his liege-lord.

"Excellent. The lass will not know what hit her. If she is able to say no, then I am no judge of women!" he said and grinned.

"Is that supposed to console me?"

"Shut up and go get her."

* * *

Tonight there were no tables in the Hall of Feasts, for the floor had been cleared for the ball. Only the highest-ranking guests had seats at the other end of the hall, where Imrahil awaited with his family and the nobles who served him. The space was lit with many lamps and candles and great doors that lead outside into the garden were open, letting inside the gentle, fragrant air of evening.

Many guests there were, lords of Gondor with their families – and with a fair number of eager daughters at their arms. Not a few of them had come here hoping that this was to be the enchanted night when one of them would catch the eye of a king. Little did they know his eye was already caught, and there was only one lady he meant to pursue.

He was quick to spot her in the crowd. She stood next to her father, dressed in the blue and silver of her House. The gown bared her shoulders and dipped dangerously low at her bosom. But her face and shoulders were framed by the soft veil of her raven hair, and on her brow and her throat glimmered pale, bright jewels amidst pearls. She was conversing with Erchirion and smiling slightly, and the light of her eyes rivalled the glitter of precious stones that she carried. Éomer had to swallow hard when he perceived this vision, and it was all he could do from striding straight to the woman and kissing her senseless right there while her father was watching.

"She is beautiful indeed. If she will agree and Imrahil gives his blessing, all the Mark will be crowding at Edoras to get a glimpse of your Swan-lady", Éothain said quietly, standing at Éomer's elbow – although the young king had momentarily forgotten about him.

Éomer grunted as an answer and took a deep breath. She was painfully lovely tonight, which meant a very grave danger of betraying himself to Imrahil. Well, it might be too late to worry for that. But if the man decided to interfere and whisked his daughter away before Éomer could ask for her hand... that would be a grief indeed.

"Be quiet. I need to get a grip", he muttered and briefly wished he could dump his head in cold water. This was going to be more difficult than he had imagined.

"You'll do fine", Éothain reassured him and patted his shoulder. Then, with a grin that was quite audible in his voice, he added, "Should I go and make ready the horses? In case you and the lady need a quick getaway?"

Éomer did not dignify his captain with other answer than a scoff. He began to move, fixing his eyes in the back wall instead of her.

It was incredibly difficult. His hands burned for the lady, and yet he knew he could not obey this desire – this need – when her father was watching.

"Imrahil", he greeted the Prince, and then his company, "My lords."

And then _her_.

"My lady", he said, bowing as a man would to a noble maiden. A pair of sea-grey eyes glanced at him through long, thick eyelashes.

"Sire", she responded and curtsied. Her manner was even more natural than his. Nothing betrayed the fact that only last night, she had pressed herself into his arms...

He stopped that thought before it could advance. Béma, this was going to be next to impossible.

Thankfully, Imrahil had no issue with distracting him. The man was smiling, so perhaps he was yet ignorant of his friend and daughter's little game, as he gestured at the small company of lords and ladies near him.

"Come, my lord, and meet a few of my trusted advisers and liegemen", he said pleasantly.

"With pleasure, Prince Imrahil", Éomer replied smoothly. Somehow he was able to keep his eyes in the party before himself and not glance at Lady Lothíriel even once, though he was keenly aware of the fact she was standing so near. But he was not here just for her. The role of a royal guest needed to be played as well.

So he focused and listened to Imrahil's introductions, sparing a pleasant word to every lord and lady that was named, and asking about whatever part of the realm they hailed from. Next to himself, he could almost feel Éothain's silent approval for such kingly, courteous conduct. Whatever may be said about him, Éomer had learnt a few things about being a sovereign lord over the past year.

Drinks were brought by servants and many voices speaking filled the hall. At the background, musicians were tuning their instruments, trying out the first soft tunes before the dancing began. A faint shiver went down Éomer's spine. He had to fight himself as to not glance around and look for Lady Lothíriel with his eyes. What if she slipped out before he could ask for a dance?

So he briefly leant towards his captain and whispered in Rohirric, "Keep an eye on the lady, will you? I don't want her to vanish before the dancing begins."

"No worries, lad. I'll watch her like a hawk", Éothain promised. His face was stony, but his blue eyes danced with mirth and excitement for his friend.

Around them, few of the lords Éomer had been chatting with peered at him and his captain curiously, but he met their looks with a charming smile and a dismissive gesture of his hand.

The wine and light talk soon loosened the mood in the hall. Here and there, small bursts of laughter could be heard. A couple of times, Éomer gave a discreet glance to Lady Lothíriel and was relieved to see she was still present. Erchirion was with her and a company of other young nobles of the southern fiefs of Gondor, talking and laughing. She had a lively look and her eyes sparkled like bright stars. He was not surprised, though he surely was aggravated, when he saw a couple of young lordlings gazing at her with clear interest. Something grim and jealous threatened to grow in his breast, but then he reminded himself of who she had been sneaking to meet in the garden at night, and it surely wasn't any of those young men. Even so, he had to suppress the urge of striding to her and putting his arm around her shoulders – letting these Gondorian boys know what was what.

It was not long that Imrahil called the attention to himself. He raised his drink to the crowd, who mirrored the gesture with cheering and applause.

"I welcome you all tonight! It is good to see so many friendly faces around me tonight. I should think our honoured guest, King Éomer of Rohan and his fine warriors, will feel warmly admitted into our company", Imrahil began, beaming at his audience. The Prince surely knew how to make his guests feel appreciated.

He went on for a while about the friendship that had blossomed between Rohan and Dol Amroth since the Ring War, how good it was to renew these ties, and how much stronger both their peoples became when they stood together side by side. Éomer smiled and nodded here and there in agreement.

But eventually Imrahil paused and turned to look at his Rohirric friend. The Prince of Dol Amroth was smiling brightly.

"My lord, it would be a great honour if you would open the first dance. As you can see, there are many young ladies here who would be delighted to join you", he said and gestured at the crowd of nobles. Indeed, Éomer felt like a countless eager eyes were fixed on him, all hoping to catch his attention. But he kept his calm and directed a pleasant smile at his friend.

"With pleasure, Prince Imrahil. Truly the maidens of this land are so proud and fair, their radiance rivals even the court of King Elessar himself. Yet I think the lady of the house should always come first, especially when she is the daughter of a good friend and ally", he said and turned to look at Lady Lothíriel once more. She gazed straight back to him, but though her face was perfectly calm, he thought he could see a fervent light in her eyes.

Imrahil's smile was perhaps a little strained, but he nodded and took a step back.

"Very well. I am honoured, and I'm sure my daughter is as well", he said and glanced at her.

"Indeed I am, Father", Lady Lothíriel spoke, smiling as she did.

Éomer felt like every eye in the hall was on them as he approached the lady and reached his hand to her. She took it, her fingers pressing lightly against his, and followed him to the centre of the floor. He felt like he could scarcely breathe, for she was so painfully lovely to look at and he wanted her more than anything else in the world. Her eyes met his gently, as though she knew what he was thinking of, and saw no wrong in it.

Other couples joined them as well and the lines of dancers formed. The young king glanced at this side and wondered how on earth was he going to focus on dancing with this woman next to him.

"You look beautiful", he said quietly as they waited for the music to begin. "You don't know how difficult it has been not to stare at you whole night."

There was slight blush on her cheeks, though she kept her eyes forward. The music began and they moved forward.

"You are impossible, Sire, although I am surprised you managed to hold back for this long", she whispered back.

"It was not easy, I shall grant you that", he replied and lifted his hands, so that she may twirl around under them.

"I can imagine", she said wryly, but smiled at him nonetheless.

"My captain tells me I'm 'aflutter' over you. I wonder if he's right, or just teasing me", Éomer commented, and she snorted under her breath in laughter.

"Are all Rohirrim so bold and blunt? Even with their king?" she asked as she claimed his arm again for another turn.

"Bold and blunt they are, but Éothain is one of the few who dares to abuse the right so rampantly", he replied. She laughed again.

"You must introduce me to him some time. He sounds delightful", Lady Lothíriel said lightly.

"He'll love it when he hears you said that", Éomer commented, and couldn't help but grin at the idea of introducing her to all his friends. "But I suppose he's correct. I _have _not been myself since I met you again. And since I saw you tonight, all I've wanted is just to kiss you again."

"All my father's court is watching and you won't stop sweet-talking to me!" she chortled, though he spied a soft blush on her cheeks.

"Let them see. Let them know there's only one lady here I will dance with tonight", he informed her. Lady Lothíriel looked quickly at him, with some unsaid question in her eyes, and perhaps some wonder as well.

"Other ladies will be disappointed", she said at length as they turned around to follow the rest of the dancers.

"Well, I don't care", Éomer said firmly, turning to face her as the dance required. He cast her a bright smile.

The colour on her cheeks deepened, but even so, she did not look away.

"What am I going to do with you?" she whispered, half exasperated and half amused. And because she was looking so irresistible, her eyes sparkling and her smile lighting up the whole hall, he could not stop himself or his big mouth.

"You could marry me, for example", Éomer blurted out, like the coarsest fool in the whole world. Immediately he regretted it. Not because it wasn't true, but because he had meant to be well-spoken and eloquent, romance her a bit before making the actual proposal. Yet perhaps that was exactly where he had erred.

He could not perform before her. She had seen him, through him, from that very first night in the Houses of Healing, and even now it was impossible to hide what was topmost in his heart and mind.

Lady Lothíriel halted in the middle of a twirl. She went absolutely still, but her eyes grew very wide as she stared at him. Her mouth fell slightly open, though no sound came out.

Éomer stopped as well and around them other dancers manoeuvred the best they could, even though not a few curious and displeased looks were given to the King and the lady. He barely noticed any of them, for his mind was suddenly consumed by dread and doubt. Why had he said that? What sort of an idiot was he to speak his dearest desire in this way, as though it was a matter decided already, and the only thing expected of her was to simply agree? She was a young, well-bred lady of a noble line. If she had ever imagined a lord asking for her hand, this was probably the furthest thing from it. He should have courted her more, put his hopes and sentiment into charming words, and let her know how highly he thought of her!

She did not say a word and in growing horror he watched all colour leave her face. Then suddenly she let out a small gasp, her hand slipped from his own, and she turned away. She fled through the dancing crowd as though he had slapped her.

He bit his tongue to keep from cursing as he followed suit. With his bigger body-mass, he wasn't quite so quick or agile in avoiding the dancing couples. So, by the time Éomer got to the twin doors of the great hall, she had already vanished outside.

Éothain caught up with him.

"You know, I think you may have noticed the lady has left the hall", he said wryly, though also with a hint of anxiety. "What's going on?"

"I may have accidentally proposed to her", Éomer said, burning to go straight after the woman. However, he would need his captain to make some excuses because he did not think for one minute that Imrahil had not witnessed what had just taken place.

"Congratulations, you oaf. That's rich even for you", Éothain snorted.

"I know, but please spare me the smart comments. Can you go and distract Imrahil? Maybe hold him back for a moment? I need to talk to her – explain myself – and do it quickly", said the young king anxiously.

"Fine. But you better be fast. I saw him only moments ago and he doesn't look happy", Éothain warned him, much to Éomer's dismay. Béma, if he managed to botch this visit in such a way, angering and offending both the daughter and the father – well, that would be even richer.

He would worry about that later. Now he needed to find her, and so after simply groaning as an answer to his friend, he hurried outside. However, in the long hallway he realised his problem. Where had she gone? How could he, an outsider, hope to find her in this veritable maze of long hallways and corridors?

_Think, you fool,_ he told himself and took a couple of deep, calming breaths. _Where would she go to seek for __a __refuge?_

Her own rooms? There he could not obviously follow. If he did such a thing, Imrahil would be more than just unhappy. Perhaps she would go outside, but the castle grounds were too large for a single desperate Rohir to search. Perhaps there was some space in the fortress itself...

Her workshop. That was where she would go, wasn't it? At least Éomer had this feeling, and generally his instinct was very good. At least the workshop was more easily searched.

He began to walk quickly away from the hall, never minding what was happening inside, or if his and Lady Lothíriel's antics had caused much of a stir.

Éomer passed by a couple of guards on his way, but he paid them no heed. Otherwise, he didn't meet other people on his way, which was a relief; he did not need to be held back or otherwise distracted from his current goal. The need to see her was almost an ache and just beyond it throbbed the dread that with a single careless comment, he had ruined everything.

The spiral staircase that lead to her workshop was dark and he put his hand against the wall for support, not wanting to fall and break his neck. But down below he could see a soft light and his heart leapt. She wouldn't leave candles or lamps burning by themselves, would she?

His instinct proved right. There, before the hearth, sat the slumped figure of Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Her face was in her hands and her elbows rested on her knees; unladylike vision, but his heart melted at the sight of her. What a brutish thing he was, to have caused her this trepidation!

"My lady", he spoke carefully as he stepped inside. "Forgive me for disturbing you."

She startled on the low stool she had been sitting on. Her eyes were broad and wild as she raised them. More than standing up, she jumped.

Éomer lifted his hands in a disarming gesture and tried to smile.

"Sorry. I really didn't mean to startle you. Just... may I speak to you?" he asked tentatively, keeping his distance still as though she was a scared but dangerous animal.

"You shouldn't have followed me, Sire", she said in a small, unhappy voice.

"But I offended you, my lady – quite severely, it seems to me, considering the way you fled from the ball. And I wanted to tell you I am sorry. It was no way to speak to you, no matter how... _friendly_ we have been as of late", he said and watched her fair, beloved face in regret. What a turn of events it would be, if he succeeded in driving her away by his own wretched behaviour!

"No, it's not like that, my lord. I'm not offended. You were simply lovely, and I... I..." she stammered, while something fiercely anxious appeared on her features.

"Then what is it, my lady? Why do you push back when I try to get closer to you?" he asked her and took a step forward.

She shook her head and looked at him in frustration, as though he was grossly misunderstanding every word that came from her mouth.

"Sire, please do not think the fault lies with you. These past few days have been more than I could ever hope for, but both my land and yours have a thousand maidens more suited to being your bride. You could do so much better than settle for me", she told him, but her voice was choked and weak. That same painful look he had first seen in this very workshop had returned to her face, and he could tell the dreadful effort it took to be able to speak these words.

He took another step closer to her.

"I don't agree", he said gently, "For the one who stands before me now outshines all others."

She sobbed out loud and covered her mouth, not even attempting to argue back anymore. But Éomer came to stand before her and his heart was racing, for no matter how crude and blunt his proposal had been, it was not a mistake.

"I meant what I said before", he told her firmly. "I do wish to marry you. Of course, I didn't mean to ask you in such a stupid and graceless manner. But I seem to forget myself whenever you are nearby. Please, allow me to try again."

The lady said nothing, perhaps because at this point she was simply too beside herself, or maybe she wanted to hear him out. Either way, he cleared his throat and tried to bring forth such words as he had meant to use all along.

"You have been with me ever since we first met. Even when I believed I would never see you again, the memory of you, of the things you said to me, frequently came back. Your words helped to get me through some of the most difficult days I have lived. And I think it's why I refused to pay heed to my advisers... why I could not bring myself to look for a wife in Rohan. All my thought was already given to you, Lady Lothíriel, and it is so now more than ever. Each moment I spend in your presence makes me more sure of it", he spoke, words tumbling out quickly at first, and then more slowly, and with more care. It felt good to finally say this out loud.

He took a deep breath, gathered her hands in his own, and said one more thing: "So here it comes. Will you be my wife?"

She stared at him in speechless stun, her mouth slightly agape; and the idea nearly overpowered Éomer of how good it would feel to kiss again those lips. But he redirected that urge, and instead he planted kisses on the backs of her hands. Unable to hold himself back, he breathed in the scent of her skin. Somehow it was both sweet and spicy at the same time, and something greedy and eager shifted in the bottom of his stomach. And then, all he could see in his mind's eye was how he would trace that skin with his mouth and seek the sensitive bend of her elbow, and then her arm, and the hollow of her throat...

"My lord..." she whispered in a barely audible voice. She looked so torn, so indecisive, that Éomer had no idea of what her answer would be. But still her hands pressed against his very tightly, as if she was afraid of her own response.

"I know I'm a crude and graceless man, and I have more than a few rough edges. A wise fool, my captain Éothain calls me. You could do better, too. Yet for whatever it's worth, you have made me feel more truly and deeply than I ever have before. Life is a little less dreary and woeful when you are in it, Lady Lothíriel. Please do not take that light away", he told her and was even a bit surprised to hear something quite desperate in his own voice.

She closed her eyes and momentarily pressed her forehead against their joined hands. He could feel her trembling and for a moment he was sure she was going to say no.

But then Lady Lothíriel lifted her eyes. In them was a strange, fierce light as she gripped his hands tight.

"Yes. For better or for worse, I will marry you!", she exclaimed in sudden eagerness. And then, before he could wonder about it, she kissed him.

Something new stirred awake in his chest. There was a tenderness too deep and sublime to be put in words, and yet there was fierce protectiveness and a need for her safety and comfort. It felt like an entire new world opened up in her and through her, a dimension of possibilities he had not considered until this moment. And he wanted it as he wanted air to breathe and water to drink. If Imrahil said no, well, then he might really just steal this woman even at the risk of starting a war.

After some time – minutes or years, he couldn't say – Éomer finally pulled back a little bit so that he could regard her face. She was flushed and her eyes burned bright as she stared back.

"What are we going to tell your father, though? He will say no, if I ask him for your hand", he wondered, already half-seriously considering a three separate plans of smuggling her out of the city.

She gave him a keen look and then tiptoed to kiss him briefly.

"Let me worry about him, my king. He will listen to me... and give his blessing if I ask him for it", she said in soft tones.

"Still", he uttered, though he was tempted to kiss her again, long and deep, "Why is he so reluctant?"

"Because... because until tonight, he has had no reason to think I would say yes to any man", she said, and while her voice was quiet and soft, it still shook him in ways that were just as deep and powerful as his earlier desire to keep and guard her. And her sea-grey eyes were wide and bright and feverish as she stared up at him, and in that moment Éomer felt something fateful beat between them – in this promise they had made to one another.

"Then what changed your mind?" he asked her quietly, hands still entangled in her long, thick hair. It felt even softer than he had imagined.

She didn't answer right away. Something troubled seemed to appear in her eyes once more, and he sought them in earnest for a hint. Until the last moment, she had been hesitating. What had he said to change her mind?

But Éomer did not get his answer. Somewhere in the staircase, a voice was calling for her.

"Lothíriel! Are you down there?"

It was Imrahil. A shudder ran down Éomer's spine, thinking of the trouble he was in now. Quickly he tried to think of how to explain himself to the man.

"I'm coming, Father!" she called out suddenly. Then she moved from his arms, towards the entry. As she went, she was hissing, "Stay here for a bit and be quiet! I'll talk to him. You must let me do it alone."

It was not easy for Éomer to stand back and do nothing. His instinct was to go with her and face her father together. However, what could he say to Imrahil? If the Prince's mind was made, then Éomer surely could not change it. But she might. Lady Lothíriel might be a young, well-bred maiden, but she was a daughter of a proud line and beneath her bright smiles and sweet kisses was a will at least as strong as his own. And whatever this thing was between the lady and her father, that Imrahil would thwart any proposals she might get, Éomer surely had no good idea of how to compel the Prince to reconsider.

But she smiled and touched his hand briefly before she went, and he let out a deep breath. She had said yes. Only that mattered.

Only that she wanted to be his wife.

_To be continued._

* * *

**A/N: **I had a good time writing this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed reading it, too!

Éomer was being a very delightful character to write for this chapter, but so was Lothíriel - and so was Éothain. I hope I have shown Éomer's hoApefulness in wooing her, and Lothíriel's wonder at the power of his charm and affection for her. But what will Imrahil say about this all will remain to be seen!

I hope you all will stay safe and healthy, and not suffer too much under physical isolation or quarantine! As ever, you're free to contact me either here at or tumblr, to talk about what it's like in your country, or just ramble about Éomer and Lothíriel!

Thank you all for your lovely comments. They are always appreciated and treasured more than you know!

* * *

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **I do think it has long been Amrothos' fate, but maybe Aragorn has other ideas for him!

**pzacharatos - **Well, here comes!

**Guest - **Thank you for your lovely comment! I did enjoy writing that part in the pavilion very much. :)

I think Lothíriel will not yet reveal her secrets, and why she would react so remains to be seen!

**Cricklewood16 - **Thank you! I am glad to hear you like the story! And somehow for this story, it has been my particular delight to take care in describing the scenes. I do hope you shall continue to enjoy the story!

**Megingjoro/aryaputra** \- I'm delighted to hear I was able to bring a little bit of delight to your circumstances! Let us hope it will get better soon! And I do love writing Éomer in this story, too. :)

**EStrunk - **I have had such a clear image of her workshop for such a long time, I had to take my time describing it. Glad to hear you were glad to read about it! I think Éomer's reaction may seem extreme, but I hope it showed his growing feelings for her, and the sense of dismay he felt at this first time when he dared to approach a woman. But I'm glad it made sense to you!

It's been wonderful writing Éothain in this one!

**SwanKnightoftheNorth - **I write as much as I can, but creative work always takes it own time! I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

**Katia0203 -** Thank you for your comment! It was interesting to read. :) But I can't comment too much, because I don't want to reveal things about story too soon. Yet I think the kiss had a grave impact on her indeed!

I have a very clear image of her in my own mind, and you can either search pictures of her in my tumblr blog under the tag "Moondaughter's Promise", or in the internet with the name Marina Aleksandrova, particularly at the set of "Catherine the Great". Whether she is Elvish in her beauty, I'll leave to your judgement!

**Jo - **:)

**sai19 - **Yeah, I felt a little bit uncomfortable writing that! But as a writer one must go to such areas sometimes. I am glad you liked the chapter!

**Melissa Black13 - **I must say, I have enjoyed as well Éomer and Éothain's relationship in this chapter! I think the latter worries for the former a great deal, though he doesn't say it. Glad you're liking the story!

**Wondereye - **Yeah, it was too much for her to take!

**meldisil - **Glad to hear it! I hope you'll continue to like this story! And I hope you'll stay safe and healthy, too!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Imrahil did not return to the ball with his daughter, nor did the fury of Dol Amroth descend upon Éomer that night, and so he had to assume whatever Lady Lothíriel said to Imrahil was indeed effective. Even so, the scene at the ball had not gone unnoticed. The slightly drunk Amrothos demanded to know what was going on between his sister and the Rohirric king, but Éomer met his questions with a smile and a promise he would explain later. Still, the young lord eyed him warily and with a weird kind of betrayal, as though the young king had just revealed some kind of a nasty secret about himself. Éomer supposed it was hitting Amrothos hard to realise his sister was a young, lovely woman – and that the Rohir had noticed this fact, too.

The night's event had left Éomer feeling more than a little restless. As such, going to bed was unthinkable, and so he began another letter for Éowyn. He described the happenings of past few days, though not the news of the proposal he had made tonight. She might guess it either way. He wondered what she would think of it all. Would she like her future sister-in-law? Well, perhaps it was bold to think of the Lady Lothíriel already in such a way, but still... there had been something so determined in her eyes when she had gone to speak with her father. Generally, she was of gentle disposition. However, he got the feeling that when she was roused, she would fight for what she wanted with tooth and nail.

But eventually night started to grow late and he decided to get to bed, hoping to catch at least a few hours of sleep. She was in his dreams, of course, like she so often was these days.

Although he had got to bed fairly late, Éomer was up with the dawn. And good thing, that, for he had scarcely had time to dress when his guard knocked at the door and peeked inside. There was a servant outside, saying that the Prince Imrahil wished to speak with the King of Rohan.

A shiver ran down his spine. Was this it, then? Would Imrahil be telling him he would bless the union between the young king and his chosen lady? Or had she succeeded at all in convincing her father? At the very least, it would be a good thing to know if he should be going in ready for a debate or a fist fight. But Lady Lothíriel was not here to counsel him.

Éomer shook himself. He could do this. He would convince Imrahil, or do whatever thing was required of him to have her father's blessing. And who knew? Maybe she had already secured it and Imrahil was simply waiting to tell him the good news.

It was difficult to keep his impatience in check and not order the servant to lead the way faster through the wide corridors of the castle. At first he tried to come up with some kind of a speech, but sentences fell apart in his head; he was too anxious for eloquence. Well, maybe that was just right. Éomer had never been particularly good at pretension.

Then at last he was ushered into Imrahil's study. It was a beautiful room, spacious and airy. It overlooked the city and into the sea. Here the Prince of Dol Amroth could survey his land and see friends and enemies approaching from afar.

In a strange way, it reminded Éomer a bit of _her_ workshop. Surely it was not because Imrahil too studied herbs here, but mostly in the way every available surface was filled with wondrous things and objects. The Prince had a rather impressive collection of books and scrolls, all neatly stacked in a massive bookshelf. There were a few objects, an oil lamp and an hourglass and some other small but beautiful things, that looked to be of Southron making. The walls were equally covered with hangings and maps of both sea and land. There was even one of a star-shaped isle, which Éomer realised had to be the map of long-vanished Westernesse. Why the Prince would be displaying the map of a landmass that was no more, he couldn't say.

The desk was covered with many objects, but there seemed to be a method to their order, for the general appearance was not cluttered. Several more scrolls and maps, one big quill and a beautifully decorated ink-bottle, strange devices Éomer guessed had to do with navigating at sea, a neat pile of fresh parchment, and other various things the Prince might need while working.

Imrahil stood at the window, looking out into the bay, but he turned around when the young king entered. Éomer smiled warily and studied his friend's face for some sign. Imrahil's answering smile was not perhaps so easy as usually, but it was there.

"Good morning. I am sorry to disturb you so early, my friend, but it has been a restless night for me and I wished to talk with you as soon as possible", said the Prince and he gestured at chairs, one on his side of the desk and the other on Éomer's.

"Morning to you as well. It's fine – I was already awake", said the younger of the two men.

"That is good", said Imrahil and he took seat as well before continuing, "I've ordered us some light breakfast, which should arrive in a minute. But in the meantime... I expect you will know the reason I asked you here?"

"If it has to do with your daughter, then yes", Éomer said carefully.

Imrahil let out a small sigh.

"Indeed it does", he admitted and leant back in his chair. For a moment he regarded the Rohir, as though measuring him – seeing him in an entirely new light. Éomer met the gaze evenly.

"Lothíriel made me a rather unexpected request last night", Imrahil began to speak then, pressing his fingertips together before himself. "She told me that a man had come to her and asked for her hand in marriage. She had accepted him, much to my surprise, and she pleaded me to give my blessing."

"Why does it surprise you?" Éomer asked quietly and stared hard at the Prince.

"Because years before, when she first began to blossom into womanhood, she asked me to turn down all the proposals she might get. She wished to keep her freedom and stay here in her ancestral lands. And she has indeed received a few offers since she came of age, for she is the only daughter of an ancient and proud line, and her family holds sway in the court of King Elessar", Imrahil replied, choosing his words with care, but his grey eyes met Éomer's own evenly.

It was her own desire, then? All this time, it was her unwillingness that had led Imrahil, and not an overprotective father's notion that no man could ever be good enough for her. But last night she had changed her mind – and so changed the mind of her father as well. A most curious feeling came to Éomer. What couldn't this woman do, if she put her thought and heart to it?

"Her lineage or her family's influence are not why I asked for her hand. I imagine if I were the kind of man to think like that, I would have come straight to you", Éomer said then, focusing on his friend once more.

"Then why did you, my friend?"

"Because your daughter is... because she's special", said the young king, struggling for the right words. But they were hard to come by, because she was so much and already meant the world to him, and he had never thought to feel this way about anybody. There were no words in him to describe how that felt. He took a deep breath and continued, "I have never met anyone like her. Hers is a rare blend of wisdom and gentleness and strength. She understands me from half a word, and already I feel like she knows me better than I do. Her presence calms me. All my life I've felt restless like I was in a storm that will not settle. But with her... the storm is still."

Imrahil watched him in silence. The Prince's eyes widened slightly as he listened to Éomer speak these words and truth be told, even the young king felt some wonder at his own presentation. His throat felt tight. What if his answer did not satisfy Imrahil? What would he do if the man sent him out with a refusal? What _could_ he do?

So he looked at his friend straight in the eyes and spoke again.

"Imrahil, in some things I may be impatient and hot-tempered. But I do not give my heart easily, and I am slow to forget. Your daughter could do so much better than settle for me, I know this, but with me she would at least have a husband who cherishes her for herself, and not just for whose daughter she was born. I would never take her freedom from her. And even now as I speak to you, I know that if my road is to be parted from hers, I shall be asking myself _what if _until the day I die. I have never had that certainty of any woman but Lothíriel", he said, and then finally fell silent, and he wasn't sure if he had said too much, or too little. But then, what more could he offer to Imrahil? To speak of a woman such as her would ask for poetry, if one truly wished to describe her in the appropriate way. And Éomer was a warrior, not a minstrel.

There was a silence between them, which was thankfully interrupted by a servant's arrival: tea and some light breakfast was brought to the two men. The young king himself felt too anxious to be able to eat anything, though he did pick up a small porcelain cup and held it out while the servant poured them cups of fragrant herbal tea. Imrahil was quiet as he picked up his own cup and a white cake dripping with honey. Then the Prince directed him another keen stare.

"I have not heard you speak in this way before, my friend. Men have professed their love for my daughter at times, but none have done it so sincerely as you. I think you are indeed the first one who truly means it", Imrahil said once the servant had left them again. He took a sip of his tea and regarded the Rohir over the rim of the cup, looking far more rigorous than one might expect from a man holding such a puny porcelain dish in his hand.

He then let out a small sigh and seemed to slump back down a little bit as he continued, "Lothíriel is special indeed, as you have rightly noted. Probably even more than you realise. I do not know if she is well-suited for marriage, and yet she does wish to marry you – this is exceptional in ways you don't even know. My daughter wouldn't make such a request lightly... and perhaps there is it wisdom in it I had not seen myself. My own heart tells me that if there is a man in this Middle-earth who might suit her, understand her mind, it is most likely you."

"Why this wariness, Imrahil? Are we not allies? Doesn't the idea of joining our Houses and families make you glad?" Éomer asked, tilting his head and studying the face of his friend intently.

Imrahil shook his head. Was he frustrated, or did it just seem so?

"Please do not misunderstand. While my words may sound like they imply something else, I know well what honour it is to our House that you wish to make this alliance with us. But a father must see to his daughter first, and it has been by her own request that I have turned down all who who have asked for her hand. I suppose it's difficult for me to grasp the idea that she might now desire otherwise", he explained slowly, as though right words were not easily come by.

Éomer regarded his friend in silence for a minute before he asked, "As her father, why do you think she decided to accept me?"

"Lothíriel's reasons are her own, but I think she sees something in you she has not discovered in another person until now. So you could say she thinks you are unusual, too", said Imrahil at length and he put down his cup.

The Rohir could not help but smile a bit at the thought. He sipped his tea and watched the face of his friend, framed in the light of the morning. While they had been talking, the new day had gradually grown brighter.

"Am I to understand you will give your blessing, then?" he asked carefully and laid down his cup. He wasn't sure his hands would stay steady for the answer.

"Well, my daughter spoke very strongly in your behalf and it's not wise to ignore her. Yes, I will agree to this union. May the Powers that be bless and secure it", said Imrahil at last.

Éomer stood up in one swift motion. His first instinct was to go straight to his friend and envelope him in a huge bear-hug. But somehow, though his mind was full of joy and relief, he still recalled his manners. So he bowed, holding a hand to his chest. He was going to marry her! Lothíriel had said yes, and Imrahil had said yes, and all his fear and doubt melted into a shining, powerful wonder.

"Thank you, Imrahil, from the bottom of my heart", he said and was surprised to hear how choked with emotion his voice was.

But Imrahil regarded him with a strange, bittersweet smile.

"I am glad if it makes you happy, my friend. Yet I must say this: be warned. There may be other maidens in this world better suited for the crown of Rohan than my daughter is. In her the blood of Mithrellas of the Elves nearly runs true. And like Mithrellas before her, she may never wish to fully belong to any man. But who knows? The House of Eorl is renowned for the skill in taming wild things", said the Prince, and it briefly occurred to Éomer how odd it was for the man to speak of his own daughter in such a way. However, he was simply too happy to dwell on it for long.

How could he, anyway, when this was the first moment when he truly, wholly believed the words Lothíriel had spoken to him that first night they had met?

_I see the sun shining down on your path. _

* * *

Éomer left Imrahil's study some time later. His step was light and long and somewhere between his stomach and throat, laughter was brewing. He could not stop smiling, and suspected he wouldn't any time soon. It was as though this one blessed day was the long-overdue amends for an endless, grim winter which he had endured.

He was not surprised to discover _her_ sitting on window board at the end of the hallway. She was looking outside, but hearing his steps she turned to look at him with a faint smile on her dear, fair face. He grinned back like a maniac.

With a few long strides he was before her. But while he would have liked nothing better than catch her in his arms and spin her around in the air, Éomer quickly buried that idea. Imrahil may have given his blessing, but the young king didn't want to try his luck. So he just reached for her arms, clasping his hands around her elbows, while her own pressed against his biceps.

"Good morning, my lady", he greeted her warmly. He could not help it: he bent down his head and kissed her sweet brow.

"Good morning", she replied, eyes glittering like the two of them were into some amusing secret that only they knew. "You don't think a man may call his bride by her own name?"

"A man may", he replied, "but my bride is not just any woman."

A strange, exhilarating thrill went through him at the thought of that word. How unusual! Until today, it had not excited him in the slightest. Rather, the very idea had filled him with doubt and apprehension.

She smiled slightly.

"Perhaps she is, or perhaps not. But whatever may be true of her, to you she would gift her name freely", Lothíriel said, watching him with those fathomless eyes, and filling him with such tenderness as he had never imagined possible.

"Lothíriel", he spoke her name, liking how it tasted on his tongue. "Be careful of what you give. I think I will be greedy, and this gift in particular I will enjoy freely. As I hope you will be enjoying mine."

"Éomer. It is well, for it's a good, strong name, and it should be used often", she said softly. "But you must not be saying such things here in the open. I keep telling you I'm not as resistant as you think, and still you don't listen."

"Well, what is there to fight when we have your father's blessing?" he asked her lightly. "I don't know what you told him to change his mind, but it must have been quite the argument."

"Bear no ill will against him. If he has been wary and prudent, it's because he was heeding my request. But that is past. I know now where my path leads", she said, smiling and gently squeezing his arms.

He smiled at that.

"I think I have an inkling, too", he told her and felt ludicrously happy.

"So, what now?" she asked him then.

"Your father suggested we keep the news to ourselves for the time being", he replied, knowing already it was going to be very difficult, "and that we should meet in the White City later in the summer, and announce the betrothal there."

"Ah, politics", Lothíriel said and wrinkled her nose.

"I'm afraid so. And that's probably what people will think this is about", he said. He pressed a small kiss on her brow and added, "But we both know it's not true."

"Indeed we do", she agreed. She let out a soft sigh, "I wish you could stay for a little longer."

"As do I", he said and tried not to think of how very long the months of separation were going to be.

"I suppose your people are soon expecting you back, aren't they?" she asked and looked up at him with wide eyes, and for a moment she looked so young and vulnerable, and she was like any eager maiden. It filled him both with wonder and endeared him to her, this duality of her wisdom and discerning, and the sweet, naked sensitivity of her youth. But it also humbled him, for he did not think she revealed this other part of her to many.

"I believe so. But don't you worry. I shall be writing very often to you – so often that soon you will dread the very sight of Riders coming to your city", he told her, smiling as he did. He did not look forward to the idea of his departure next morning, but he wasn't going to dwell on it while he still had one more day with his bride.

Lothíriel smiled too, and her eyes grew bright with a cheerful glimmer.

"Then you will have to be writing day and night, because I don't think I will soon grow tired of your words", she told him.

He laughed and for a brief moment, he pressed her tight against himself – damn anybody who might see them. It was perfect, the way her body fit there in his arms. She was neither too short or too tall, and he felt a delightful roundness about her curves that his hands would meld against in the most excellent way. A shiver went down his spine and something hungry and ferocious shifted in the bottom of his stomach. Perhaps she felt something, for when she looked up at him, a faint colour was spreading across her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes had become more intense.

He took a deep, calming breath and fought back half a dozen reckless ideas that had just occurred to him.

"Sorry. You must know you're not going to marry the most patient of men", he told her and was surprised to hear how hoarse his voice had become. Still, she smiled and relaxed a little bit.

"I did know that", Lothíriel said and she tiptoed to kiss his cheek. Against it she whispered, "I am going to miss you, my dear wise fool."

"I will miss you too."

* * *

"So, what do you think of my bride?"

Éomer made this question to his captain as they were finishing up with their horses. At Imrahil's approval, the young king had taken his bride out to the beach for a ride – a pleasant outing, and also a chance to introduce her to Éothain. Not only was that man one of Éomer's best friends, he was also responsible for making the King of Rohan and his family safe.

Atfter this outing she had already gone back inside to run some errands before the evening's farewell feast, leaving the two Rohirrim to their own devices.

"She seems like a nice young lady. Maybe not the prettiest girl who has been thrown your way by an eager father, but kingdoms were never ruled well with just a fair face", said Éothain at length. Then, in a lower voice, he added, "To be honest, I'm not sure what draws you to her, though it's clear that she does. I thought... I thought her eyes were strange."

"Strange how?" Éomer asked. He was frowning. He had hoped Éothain would be as delighted with Lothíriel as he himself was, but he should probably not expect everybody to fall in love with her just like that. And yes, she _was_ unusual. At this point, he simply did not notice it as much others might.

"It's hard to explain. It's like... like she knows things about me she shouldn't. Like she saw through me", said Éothain uneasily. Perhaps he too was regretting he could not fully share his king's happiness.

Éomer glanced at his friend.

"It's not uncommon among her people. She's of an old line of Westernesse, and it's said they can see into minds and hearts of men. The late Steward, Lord Denethor, surely did. And Faramir does, too, but you never said he is strange", he pointed out.

"Aye, that is true. But with your bride, it's somehow different. It goes deeper, somehow. Like I said, it's hard to explain. Perhaps you yourself said it right in the first place: there's something wild in her. I could see it in her eyes and it unsettles me. It may also unsettle others who come to know her as the Queen of Rohan", Éothain answered. He sounded reluctant to say these words, and only spoke them out of duty.

"You must give her a chance, Éothain, like you gave a chance to me. Did anybody expect me to take the throne? Yet here we are either way. She's young still, and she probably did not think a king would propose to her. She is unusual, I do not deny that. But strangeness doesn't make her unsuitable, and it doesn't mean something is wrong with her. I would rather start my line with a woman I care about, and perhaps she has things to give to Rohan that nobody else could offer. Our people are coming to a different age, Éothain; we may yet need minds like hers to find our own course", Éomer said strongly and turned away from Firefoot, now unsaddled and his coat gleaming from the brushing.

Éothain looked at him and tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach his blue, honest eyes.

"Well, I suppose you know it best. Don't understand me wrong, Éomer. I want nothing but your happiness, and it's clear she's a special lady indeed. Nobody else has ever turned your head in this way, and I've known you long enough to appreciate what it means. Though I can tell my response to her is not what you wished, don't pay too much heed to it. She's Imrahil's own daughter, and with that name attached to her, she can well afford strangeness", he said evenly, and his words did assuage Éomer somewhat.

It was merely a case of them getting to know one another. Once Lothíriel settled down in Meduseld and she had a chance to show her virtues, she would be loved by her new people just as much as by him.

* * *

On the final night of King of Rohan's stay in Dol Amroth, a small feast was had in the castle's garden. It was a fair, warm night and at this point, formality had run its course between friends. Much to their delight, the entire King's Guard had been invited as well.

The place was lit by countless lamps and lanterns hanging from the branches of the trees, and the castle itself glowed with many lights above the garden. Benches had been brought out and at the steps leading to the castle, a small band of musicians were playing soft, pleasant tunes that somehow reminded Éomer of the hum of the sea. On the green grass stood a massive table laden with too many different kinds of foods and delicacies for him to count. The air itself in the fragrant garden was like some sweet, intoxicating draught.

Imrahil made no long speeches tonight. He simply raised his glass and thanked the company of Rohirrim for their visit, and hoped they would soon return. The knights of Éomer's guard cheered their host and raised their own cups, which they then heartily drained. Not a single Eorling would be leaving the city feeling like they had been mistreated – though some among them had more reason for satisfaction than the others. Éomer allowed himself a private grin.

The Prince made his way to the young king, his daughter by his arm. She was wondrously lovely, of course, but not quite as radiant as she had been earlier this day. Éomer flattered himself with the idea that perhaps her mood was because of the nearing parting.

"So it is your last night with us", said Imrahil with a slight smile. "Some visit it has been, my friend. I do not think any of us could have imagined such an outcome."

"Indeed", Éomer conceded and returned the smile, though his eyes lingered more with Lothíriel than her father. "Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are, if not more so. I had no plans to steal this flower from your realm, but what can I say?"

"Was it not said that Gondor owes you for the Lady Éowyn? Though if I'm honest, I would not like to think of myself as a settlement for debt", Lothíriel commented wryly.

"And you are not, my lady. Only a fool would dare to suggest it", Éomer stated firmly and bowed his head to her. He glanced at her father, "Still, I would be lying if I said my council won't be delighted once they hear the news."

"How soon shall you inform them?" Imrahil inquired.

"I can't be keeping my closest advisers in the dark, but I will not be making this news public until after we have met in the White City. Even so, while my Riders should know to keep their mouths shut, there may be some rumours", replied the Rohir. It occurred to him it wasn't going to be easy to keep this to himself. Like some kind of a lovesick idiot, he wanted to tell everybody and their mothers about her, how wonderful she was, and how glad she had made him.

"No one shall believe any such rumour, not at least in Gondor. I have made sure of it", she said in a low voice, and her meaning was not lost to Éomer, though he did not know the exact number of the proposals she had turned down.

"I suppose it can't be avoided. But no matter. We shall be seeing you in Minas Tirith soon enough", said the Prince. Then his eyes fell on his daughter standing by his side. His smile grew sad before he looked back at Éomer.

"I hope no hard feelings remain between us, though I have had my misgivings. It's not easy thing to give up a beloved child. And somehow it is more difficult with a daughter, I find – even when I know her strength and capability", he said softly. His grey eyes travelled between his daughter and the King, as though the one had grown up much sooner than she should have, and the other no longer wearing just a friend's face, but also of the man who had made Imrahil come to meet this bittersweet choice.

"It is no matter. She is a treasure, and no man would part with her easily and without pain", Éomer said, and he saw warm colour spreading across her cheeks. She lowered her eyes momentarily, perhaps to hide some thought or expression that she knew he would instantly see.

"True indeed", Imrahil agreed and smiled.

"For my part, I'm sure I shall feel as though waking up from a dream when I ride out of your gates. It will be hard not to turn and race back to make sure I haven't just made up the whole thing", Éomer said, light at first, and then growing more uneasy when he realised just how true it was. And with it, a sense of doubt stirred inside him. He was certain of his own feelings, but what of her? What if she began to regret her choice to accept him when they were parted once more?

Lothíriel seemed to sense the shift of his mood. Unabashedly she reached forward to touch his forearm, never mind the fact that her father stood right there next to her.

"Don't be troubled. We shall be together soon, and you shall leave with more than a memory", she said evenly and squeezed his forearm gently before withdrawing her hand again.

It seemed that her father directed a longer look at her than was usual, yet it was not as hard or marvelling as Éomer would have expected in any other company. Even he was not so bold as to ask, but in all honesty, he did wonder what Imrahil and his sons made of Lothíriel. She was their family, and yet she was so unlike any of them.

He studied her, too, but only for a brief moment. A number of questions had formed and he wanted to speak them in as much privacy as was feasible. So he looked straight at Imrahil once more.

"Do you mind if I take a turn with my bride in the garden?" asked the young king pleasantly. He had a feeling it would be a good idea to pay every respect to Imrahil's sense of propriety, now that the Prince had given his consent.

"Not at all, as long as you remain close to the rest of us", Imrahil said and released the hand of his daughter from his elbow.

"We shall keep within sight", Éomer promised graciously and offered his own arm to the lady. She took it with a slight smile.

They walked for a moment in silence, until Imrahil was left behind and the two were left in moderate privacy. Moderate, because about them were many small groups of Rohirric Riders and their southern counterparts – Éomer's men had made fast friends with Swan Knights during their stay in Dol Amroth. And he did not lead his bride into the shadowy lanes of the garden, even if it was a tempting thought. He had no doubt Imrahil and at least one of his sons were watching them like hawks. Her brothers seemed to accept their sister's choice of husband, and had been rather gracious about the matter, even Amrothos. Still, there had been an unspoken warning in each of their eyes, the kind Éomer very much recognised. He was an older brother himself, after all.

"Now, what was that? I'm sure I enjoy walking with my bridegroom, but you were looking very inquisitive just before", she spoke softly, even surprising him a little bit. The dear girl already read him alarmingly well. Yet perhaps at this point he should know better than to wonder at her insight.

"I wanted a word alone – as alone as it is possible with your father's eyes glued to the back of my head", Éomer admitted, at which she made a quiet little scoff, as one might when seeing their guess has hit the right mark. "I was wondering... and now that I do, I am astonished with myself for not asking it sooner. Lothíriel, are you ever lonely?"

She was silent for a while, and eventually he began to worry if he had spoken in too quiet a voice, and she had not heard him over the noise of feasting. But at length she let out a soft sigh, which he more sensed than heard.

"Perhaps I was when I was younger. Sometimes people think I'm strange, and they avoid me because of it. And to be honest, I understand it. I do not blame them. However, it has been a while since I've felt well and truly lonely", she said slowly, as though it was a question that hardly moved her, but was answering it simply to humour him.

He stared at her by his side, but her face was looking forward, and he could not read her expression or her eyes. At first her answer puzzled him. How was she so unfazed, so unbothered by the solitude her singular character must doom her to bear? But then he recalled what Imrahil had told him when he had asked to marry her. _In her the blood of Mithrellas of the Elves nearly runs true_. Perhaps her thoughts walked in paths not unlike the Immortal, and the sound of the sea and the wind in the trees were company enough for her.

He was still thinking of this when she abruptly pressed her hand more tightly against his arm, and cast a look of concern up at him.

"But please, don't think I do not like being with you. It's pleasant and easy when you are around. You've never acted like I'm strange, even if you think so", she said quickly.

Now Éomer had to smile fondly. She might generally read him well enough, but that right there was a misstep, if he ever saw one.

"Aye, strange you are, bride mine – but in the most interesting, charming, and most enticing way anyone has ever been strange", he told her in low, warm tones.

In the light of the lamps and lanterns he saw the colour on her cheeks, but her eyes sparkled like stars. She leant a little bit closer, as though meaning to kiss him before she recalled they were not alone. So she just settled on pressing his arm again.

"I am glad you think so, my wise fool", she said, smiling up at him.

Éomer raised an eyebrow.

"Is that going to be a thing?"

"Would you mind if it was?"

"... depends."

"On what?"

"On how far you will go to persuade me."

_"... my lord."_

No one had ever managed to make that title sound so sensual and so intimate. Béma, he was going to miss her.

* * *

Morning came.

Gone was the slow, relaxed mood of the past couple weeks. In its stead, the castle seemed to breathe with expectation and preparation. Riders of the King's Guard were in their element once more, checking their horses and their gear, and making sure all was ready for the journey North. Éomer could tell they were eager for the road. While Dol Amroth was pleasing and fair with it's entertainments, it was not home, and they had had their share of leisure. The young king himself felt ready to get to the many duties waiting for him back in Edoras. His holiday in the city by the sea had been a success altogether.

Yet his departure was not without unease. There were still so many things he wanted to speak of with his bride, and he knew he would painfully miss her presence, her quiet, knowing smiles, and the secret kisses stolen in the shadows. For weeks to come, he would have to be satisfied with letters only.

They said their goodbyes in the courtyard. The sun had barely risen and the air was crisp with early morning's chill; proof it was not yet full summer even in this gentle corner of the realm of Gondor. Éomer preferred it, though, knowing the men and the horses would get more and more hot and uncomfortable as the day progressed.

Her family was few paces back as Éomer himself stood with his bride. Her face was solemn but calm and her eyes never left his face. The wait was going to be just as long for her as it would be for him.

"Well, here we are", he said at length and was surprised to hear his own voice come out so hoarsely.

"Here we are", she agreed in a soft voice. "Be well and travel safe."

"You as well", he conceded, and for a moment made intense battle with himself in order not to reach for her and kissing her in the front of her father. He breathed deeply through his nose and then exhaled. "I shall be seeing you in the White City in a few weeks. But you may expect letters before that."

Now she smiled at him.

"That is good. I shall look to the east and wait for your Riders", she said, and he could not help but smile as well, encouraged simply by the faith in her eyes and warmth in her voice.

"In the meanwhile, I've got something for you – to remember these happy days when we are parted. It's not much, but I wasn't planning on proposing when I came here and so I brought nothing suitable, and yet a man should give his bride a parting gift", he explained and reached for the leather purse on his belt, which contained a few objects of personal value and everyday use – flint and steel, a small comb and a knife, small writing tools in case he needed to draft a message on the road – and drew out a woven leather bracelet which he had made only last night before going to bed.

A king should certainly gift his wife-to-be more grandly, and any other woman he would not have dared to present with such a small thing. However, this was the traditional gift men of the Mark gave to their brides, even if they at least decorated it with colourful beads and small wooden tokens they had carved themselves. Most adornment he had added was the intricate pattern of the weaving and three pearls from the markets of Dol Amroth, found a couple of days earlier with the help of Amrothos. Granted, the jewellers of the city could have provided him with riches fit for a princess, but he suspected he could never impress her with such items. As Imrahil's daughter, she would already have the finest silver, brightest jewels and most flawless pearls one could imagine. But small and artless as his bracelet appeared, it was personal. At least to himself it made sense, because Éomer was new to his throne, and he still remained more a soldier than a sovereign lord in his heart of hearts. And Lothíriel – she was unusual, and he knew his gift was well-given when he saw her eyes widen in surprise and delight. With a broad smile, she offered her hand to him.

His fingers trembled a little bit when he fastened the bracelet around her wrist, which he brushed gently before letting go. She lifted her hand to inspect the bracelet more closely. She looked so happy to receive this simple, rustic gift, one might think he had just showered her with a hoard of Elven jewels.

"It is lovely! Thank you", she said, still smiling. But then her face grew worried, and she spoke quietly, "I have no gift to match yours, but maybe this will do."

She then produced a light blue handkerchief, embroidered at the edges with swans and ships riding the waves, and quickly she tied it around his wrist. Her fingers lingered on the knot for a moment before she pulled her hands back again. Éomer had a feeling the handkerchief would smell like her, but he couldn't well press it against his face without raising a few eyebrows. He surely would do so, though, once he had taken his leave and wasn't under the scrutiny of so many eyes any longer.

Behind himself, he could hear the horses shifting anxiously. He could very well imagine the Riders were equally eager to go. But tearing himself away from his bride was so damned difficult, and it got no easier as moments passed. Swallowing hard, he picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, perhaps a bit longer than was appropriate, but hopefully Imrahil would forgive this small transgression at the moment of parting.

"I will miss you. More than you know – more than I could possibly tell you", he uttered quietly, and then felt a small hand on his cheek, just as he once had in the shadowy corridor of Houses of Healing. Her touch remained as gentle and comforting as it had been that night. And somehow, her eyes had that same, faraway look in them, like she was staring somewhere past him.

"You will be missed as well. But the reunion will be all the sweeter, and you and I are always bound to meet again", she told him, speaking as one would with greatest conviction. And why wouldn't she? All that she had told him had come to pass. Perhaps even the part about sun on his path.

"Until then", said Éomer, pressed his fingers against hers for one more time, and then took a step back. He raised his eyes and nodded at Imrahil and his sons one more time; words of parting had been already exchanged between them, and the final moment had been for her alone.

Imrahil's countenance had been serious, but he did smile at the Rohirric king, and so did his sons. Amrothos was even waving his hand in farewell, and crying, "Come back soon!"

Éomer cast a grin at his friend and waved in answer. But the last smile he reserved for his bride, softer and more private, and she met it with one of her own. He took that final glimpse of her – eyes so bright and a smile so dear – before he turned towards Firefoot and flung himself in the saddle. He could feel her gaze on himself, but he did not turn back, because then he would just have to return to her for one more touch of her hand, and his company must be on its way already.

So, with a deep breath he gave the sign and the White Horse leapt forward once more, and so began his long journey home.

* * *

The road back to Mundburg was not taken with as much leisure as the initial journey to Dol Amroth. Knowing the duties that waited for him back in the Mark, and reluctant to linger and brood over his bride, Éomer made his company travel with more speed than was perhaps necessary. However, he could tell no one was dismayed. The horses delighted in some exercise as much as their Riders, and the whole guard was in high spirits. Summer had crept further in the lands south of the White City while they had remained as Imrahil's guests and the land was green and fair for a traveller to admire. With a quiet smile, Éomer listened to his company singing, jesting and laughing as they made their way northwards.

At nights, they mostly camped by the road, for the weather was mild and pleasant, the green lands offered many excellent sites, and few inns or even lords' houses were capable of tending to so many intractable Rohirric warhorses. Often in those quiet moments before he sought sleep, Éomer would pull out the blue handkerchief and study the beautiful embroidery, and run his fingers over the soft material. He had long since unfastened it from around his wrist, as it was sure to get dirty and tattered in such a situation. Still, he was a bit disappointed when the soft scent of perfume faded and he could no longer refresh his memory of the sweet fragrance of Lothíriel's hair.

Finally, they reached Mundburg again, where they were received with all the usual warmth and welcome. There they would halt for a few more days so that the Kings of Rohan and Gondor could take council together and share news. Couriers had carried reports all the way from the Mark while Éomer was absent, and while it sounded like nothing should be wrong there, Aragorn may have some concealed information of the goings of the world. Indeed, their talks, private and with the Great Council of the leading lords, were most prolific, even enthusiastic. Until now, Éomer had not taken particular pleasure in this side of his new role, and one hard lesson of past winter had been learning to talk the language of politicians. But at the meetings with Aragorn and his council, the young king found himself speaking with stronger words and greater confidence. His fellow king gave him more than one curious look, clearly suspecting that something had happened in south, but Éomer just smiled back. He did not purposefully mean to keep his friend and closest ally in the dark, but there was one person he wished to speak with first.

For politics and councils were not the only thing Éomer meant to tackle while in the White City. He also had the task of sharing some important news with his sister.

Thankfully, Éowyn and Faramir were already in the city when he arrived, taking council with Aragorn and purchasing supplies for their ongoing restoration of Emyn Arnen. The couple seemed to be more in love than ever. How the pair managed to find time both for love-sick games and running errands, Éomer did not know. He might have to ask, though, once his own wedding drew near. The idea made a pleasant shiver run down his spine.

On the second day after Éomer's arrival, he and Éowyn were fortunate enough to get a couple of free hours before another formal banquet at the Citadel. They were single-minded in how to spend the time: Firefoot and Windfola were saddled and brought out, and so the two siblings swiftly made their way through the city. And the moment they were beyond the walls of Mundburg, Éomer threw a challenge at his sister along with a huge grin. She needed no other encouragement, and so they went speeding across the Pelennor fields. They chose a path furthest away from the many homesteads, newly built after the great battle which had devastated the land between the city and Anduin. Still, a few of the common folk farming and living on the fields watched in fright and astonishment as a bunch of Rohirrim rode by like a whirlwind.

In times before, Éomer had only ever outraced his sister by a lucky chance, for she was a masterful rider and a lighter burden for Windfola to carry. But this time he perceived it was more than just luck when he reached the banks of Anduin before her. All the same, she was laughing in abandon when she caught up with him.

"Don't look so surprised, brother! You won fairly. I admit I do not have much competition in Emyn Arnen, and there is so little time these days for a good, hard ride", she said as she brought her steed to a halt.

"I know that all too well", said Éomer and grimaced. Then he looked at her again, "Shall we take a walk, while the guards water the horses? I'd like to take a look around."

"Very well. It is fairly pretty here – though it's not Ithilien", said Éoywn as she dismounted.

"You like your new home, then?" he asked her as they began to slowly make their way down the riverbank, arms linked. On their left side, Anduin flowed calmly towards the sea. But he knew the stream was strong beneath the surface, as the locals had never ceased to remind him and other reckless Rohirrim while they had stayed at the Fields of Cormallen. It was a beautiful day indeed, and spring was promising a bright summer; about them was an abundance of green that somehow seemed even stronger against all the stone of the City. Éomer knew Aragorn had plans to bring trees and other growing things to Mundburg – an endeavour he could heartily support.

Éowyn smiled brightly at his question.

"Oh, I love it there. I've never imagined such a place! Of old there was a manor house, which will be our home, but it was abandoned a long time ago when the threat of the Shadow fell over the land. Rebuilding and fortifying the house is a laborious task, but it will be a fair dwelling one day. The gardens, too, are wonderful, even if they have grown wild without hands to tend to them. We have so many plans for Emyn Arnen, Faramir and I, and I can't wait to show it to you!" she answered eagerly, eyes shining as she spoke of her new home.

"Fortifying? Is it an army camp you're living at?" Éomer asked with a slight frown.

She cast him a sharp glance.

"Of course you would get hung up on that. Yes, our home needs protection. But is not Meduseld fortified against enemies, too? The eastern bank is not yet entirely secure, and I will not have my house burnt down", she stated calmly.

"Is it quite safe in Emyn Arnen?" he asked her, and was already thinking of roving bands of orcs, and Éowyn lifeless in the ruin of her new home – an image all too real for him.

"Oh please, brother. If you're thinking of telling me I should stay and sit here in the city, while Faramir labours alone in Ithilien, you may as well forget it. It's as safe as anywhere. We have a strong garrison of seasoned Rangers, and our scouts patrol the land tirelessly. Yes, a few marauding orcs have been encountered and dealt with, but they are small and hungry groups", she told him in a tone that accepted no arguments.

"It's the hungry beast one should be wary of, sister. You don't know what it might do in its despair", Éomer said warily, although he knew already he wasn't going to turn her head. While Éowyn had changed since the ending of the war, and there was a new warmth and softness about her, she had not lost any of her stubbornness.

"If you think Faramir needs schooling in that regard, then that's your business, but don't come crying to me when he shows you what a fool you are", Éowyn stated and gazed ahead with that insufferably headstrong look on her face that, as he suspected, was not so different from his own.

She looked at him with a slight smile then, and asked, "But surely you did not want to come here just to quarrel with me?"

"No, I did not", Éomer conceded and forced his mind off of his concern for her. He knew it was useless to worry: his sister was a woman wedded now, she could take care of herself, and Faramir would never let any harm come to her. And yet he could not forget the sight of her face as she lay among the dead on the fields of Pelennor.

He shook himself and cleared his throat. He had come here to share good tidings, not to dwell on evil memories. She looked at him expectantly.

"I have some news, Éowyn. No need to look worried. It's a happy thing", he said quickly, seeing the way she raised an eyebrow. Then a grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth, because _she_ came to his mind, and all other thoughts were pushed to background. He went on, "I have found a bride."

Éowyn's eyes widened.

"Truly? You are not jesting?" she asked and her voice rose high, as it ever did when she got excited about something.

"Why would I? It is true indeed", Éomer said and gave her a broad grin.

His sister cried in delight and jumped to claim him in one of those too-tight hugs of hers. She was laughing and he couldn't help but join it.

"That is wonderful news!" Éowyn said, but then her bright smile became suspicious. "What has changed, though? You had no such news to share when you were riding for Dol Amroth... you met someone on the way, didn't you?"

"Aye, that I did. It is Imrahil's daughter, Lothíriel. We are betrothed to be married next spring", he explained, beaming as he spoke.

"Imrahil's daughter? Now that is news indeed! Faramir is not going to believe it", Éowyn said, smiling once again and regarding him as though he had finally performed some difficult task she had set him on. "He has mentioned her at times, but I have yet to meet the lady. What is she like? How did this thing come about? Tell me everything, brother!"

So Éomer began to tell his sister about Lothíriel, of their meeting in Dol Amroth, and how he had grown fond of her. And once he started to talk, he could not hold back even the one truth he had kept to himself until now: that Lothíriel was indeed the maiden he had spoken to in the Houses of Healing over a year ago. Somehow, it felt right to admit it now, and especially because it was Éowyn he was speaking with.

His sister looked appropriately surprised, but also delighted.

"I knew it! I knew there was something unusual going on there!" she exclaimed and slapped his shoulder, as though it was the only gesture that would properly convey her excitement. "Well, I am glad you have found the girl at last, and should give credit where it's due. Your instinct is much better than I generally expect."

"Is it now? How gracious of you to think so", Éomer said with a wry smile, and she laughed.

"In any case, that' s a very good match for you, brother, and it's even better that you like her. I can't wait to meet this woman! I always wondered what it would take for you to settle down", Éowyn smiled and linked their arms once more.

"We'll be meeting here in Mundburg later this summer. That's when the news will be made public, though I expect there will be many rumours before that. But I hope you will like her. She is dear to me", said the young king and smiled slightly.

"I'm sure I will. You wouldn't choose poorly in a matter so crucial. The most important one of your life, as some would say", Éowyn noted brightly.

"Aye, that certainly seems to be the general impression", Éomer said and could not help but grimace. His sister flicked his forearm.

"What cause do you have to complain now? You got to make up your own mind, and choose a bride that you like not only as a king, but also as a man", she said evenly. He merely harrumphed in answer, and she went on in a softer tone, "Still, I am glad for you, brother. Sometimes I've thought of how unfair it seems. All of our friends are settling down and finding a measure of happiness again, and yet there were you, the worthiest of men, carrying an entire country on your back all by yourself... but it may be that at times, the most deserving must come last."

He let out a low, grim chuckle.

"That's more common than you might think, sister. Not that I think myself more deserving than the next man, but to deserve may be akin to asking little for yourself, and that is a thankless job in a world where so many greedily take more than they need", he commented, making her groan softly under her breath.

"Now you're starting to sound like I used to. Let us hope it's passing fit – and that your bride will fill your head with fairer thoughts", she said and squeezed his arm. They had now walked quite a distance along the riverbank, and in quiet agreement turned around to make their way back to the horses.

Éowyn looked up at him solemnly, and she said, "My point still stands, though. I wish you all the joy in the world."

He met her gaze with a slight smile.

"As do I wish for you, sister. We shall both of us put the dark days behind us", he told her and reached to pat her arm.

His sister, legendary for the deeds done on this very field, but to him still that dear little brat who had chased him and Éothain around Aldburg, smiled back.

"That we shall, indeed."

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Here is a new chapter! I hope you all liked it.

This one took some work to finish, but hopefully it answers some of your questions. I particularly liked writing the conversation between Éomer and Éowyn. I think Éowyn in this story is a bit different than in my other stories; she's certainly very eager and filled with enthusiasm for her new life in Ithilien.

Emyn Arnen was the hill-land in Ithilien, south of Osgiliath. It lay on the eastern bank of Anduin, and that land was abandoned when Sauron's power grew. Only Rangers lead by Faramir still wandered in the woods and made such ambushes against Mordor's forces as could be managed. After the War of the Ring, Faramir was made the Prince of Ithilien. He and Éowyn took residence in Emyn Arnen

The idea of Rohirric men giving woven bracelets to their brides is my own. I was thinking of promise rings and engagement rings, and decided that in a culture like Rohan's, they might not be so available or prevalent. However, I imagined they would still have the idea of giving engagement presents, made from materials available to them - such as wood, leather, beads and other small trinkets. As a member of a royal house, Éomer would probably be familiar with the tradition of exchanging rings, but he was not planning on proposing and so he wouldn't have anything suitable with him to give to his bride. Plus, he appreciates tradition enough to want to give her something of his own, and he rightly guesses that she's the kind of woman to appreciate this kind of a gift.

As ever, music continues to inspire me while writing, and some songs reflect strongly the mood that I have while plotting and drafting. One such song for this fic is Eivør Pálsdóttir's Slør, which you can find at Youtube, and translations to English are also available on Google. This song has a particular vibe that, I think, is very much like the Lothíriel of Moondaughter's Promise.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! As ever, stay safe and healthy out there!

* * *

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **I'm glad to hear it! :)

**EStrunk - **Yes, he's quite delightful while in this state! :D I hope this chapter answers some of your questions.

**Tibblets - **Thank you! I hope you continue to like it.

**pzacharatos - **Thanks! :)

**Catspector - **Imrahil does listen to his daughter, so here we are, and we have an engagement! :D

**sai19 - **I'm glad to hear you're enjoying this story so much! :) I'm certainly interested what your theories might be, so don't hesitate to PM me if you would like to!

You are quite correct - this is going to be at least 100k story, but probably closer to 150-200k. We'll see how detailed and wordsy my muse continues to be!

**Jo - **I hope you liked the chapter, and the engagement! :) And stay safe out there!

**Wondereye - **Hopefully, this chapter gives some answer to that. Éomer has indeed been fun to write in this story, and Éothain too!

**rossui - **We'll see! Obstacles may come indeed, but for now things are looking pretty hopeful for Éomer. Glad you liked the chapter!

**blasttyrant - **I can imagine it's very stressful for you, but I hope you will stay safe and healthy, and get to relax despite the situation. I'm glad if my story is able to bring some relief! And hopefully this chapter answers some of your questions. :)

**Melissa Black13 - **I think she surprised everybody, including Éomer, with her acceptance of him! She does things in her own way, and as to what is truly going on with her, we'll have to see! I'm glad you're liking this story (and the others) so much! :)

**LH Wordsmith - **Thank you so much! I got all giddy and happy over your lovely review. I'm so happy to hear you like my stories, and my takes on Éomer, so much!

I surely agree with your assessment. Generally, I think of him having this difficult life, dedicated to serving his king and country, and bearing much grief because of his losses. But then she arrives and turns it all around, introducing him to a much happier phase of life.

As to what is going on with Lothíriel, we'll see!

**Anne - **Thank you! :)

**Guest - **Thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

One rainy evening Éomer finally reached his home in Edoras. His trip to Stoningland had been long, and he was glad to see Meduseld was still standing. He had made a few stops in the villages on the way, listening people for news and everyday gossip, and it sounded like nothing too serious had taken place in his absence.

Even before he dismounted, Éomer was giving a critical glance at Meduseld and its premises. A thorough cleaning and polishing would have to be done before _she_ arrived. At once, he noticed a dozen little things that ought to be fixed. The stables could do with a thorough mucking, saddles and reins should be oiled and polished and blankets cleaned, guest-houses needed to be aired and swept, and storehouses inspected. And the Hall! Without even entering it he could imagine the dusty hangings and cobwebs high in the rafters. Every nook and cranny must be swept carefully, and the Queen's rooms prepared. The garden... well, it might be wiser not to touch it, although it was quite untended now that Éowyn had departed. Lothíriel with her extensive herb-lore would probably want to take that task herself and set it up after her own mind. And she would need a workshop here, too, wouldn't she? He didn't expect she would give up her studies completely; it would surely make her unhappy. That was a conversation for when they saw each other again.

The wear of the journey began to settle on him as he climbed up the stairs to Meduseld. Doorwards greeted him warmly as they opened the twin doors, and the warmth and soft light came out as an inviting glow. Then Leofrun was there, bearing him the cup of welcome. It still felt strange to receive the cup from her and not Éowyn. Now that his sister was gone, the task of greeting the King upon his return fell on Leofrun, the chief of the women of the royal household.

"Welcome, my lord. I trust your journey went well?" she spoke warmly as he received the cup and took a long sip of sweet mead. Leofrun looked at him as though she might have enveloped him in her arms, if they weren't so exposed.

"It did, Leofrun. Our friends in Stoningland never spared any effort to keep us comfortable and entertained", he replied with a slight smile. Perhaps it revealed it more than he had intended, for the woman cast him a curious look.

But Éomer drained the rest of the cup before handing it back to his housekeeper. Then he spoke, "Send some supper into my study. I imagine there will be many reports and messages waiting for me there, and I may as well start reading through them right now. And make sure my Riders all get a hot meal."

"Are you certain, my lord? You must be tired after such a long trip", Leofrun asked doubtfully; he knew she thought he worked too much.

"I am. Please make sure there will be some hot tea, too. That rainwater is starting to seep into my bones", he said as he began to make his way towards his own rooms. A change of clothes would do him a lot of good.

"Very well, my lord", said Leofrun and headed for the kitchens. But Éomer himself briefly visited his chambers. Guthlaf helped him to get out of his armour, which the young man then took away to tend to before any rust settled in. The royal chambers looked warm and inviting, and Éomer's bed even more so, and he cast that great piece of furniture a yearning glance as he pulled on some dry clothes. However, his work of tomorrow would at least slightly lessened if he began trudging through reports tonight.

There was indeed a thick pile of them on his desk in the royal study. Except for them, the desk was quite untouched – a few quills scattered, a bottle of ink he had forgotten unclosed much to his present dismay, bits and pieces of parchment and maps – but the servants had been in and out regularly, and so the place did not feel dank or deserted.

Éomer brushed fingers through his still damp hair and stared at the reports for a moment, though he knew they wouldn't read themselves. Then with a sigh, he picked up the first one and began to read.

It wasn't long before Leofrun arrived, carrying a tray in her hands. There was a big, steaming bowl, some bread with cheese, and an entire pot of tea. His stomach growled loudly at the sight and he quickly brushed an empty spot on the desk so that she could set the tray down.

"It's good to have you home, lad", said Leofrun, all formality gone now that they were alone. She smiled warmly as she continued, "This place does not feel quite right without you."

"Thank you, Leofrun. I trust not many fires were started while I was gone?" he asked and gestured her to take seat, which she did. He poured some tea for the both of them.

"I believe there were some minor ones, nothing truly worrisome, but you shall learn all about it in your reports. Now tell me, how is Éowyn? Did you enjoy yourself while in Dol Amroth? And did that lot of Prince Imrahil's keep you well?" asked the housekeeper, and they proceeded into sharing various tidings and talking about Éowyn and her new life in Gondor. He also presented his gifts to Leofrun, which she tried to refuse at first, but at his gentle coaxing, she accepted them at last.

"Look at that craftsmanship! How the metal shines! It is truly lovely", Leofrun said as she admired the necklace he had bought for her and ran her fingers gently over the silver shapes of swans. Being a sensible, modest woman, she would never have purchased such a thing for herself. But good service and loyalty earned some reward, and he imagined she would be proud to wear her new necklace when the occasion was right.

"As for those spices I got for you, I expect you won't be using all of it in Meduseld. Save some for yourself", he told her sternly. Leofrun answered with a sheepish smile.

"I shall keep that in mind", she said, but he made a mental note of having to pay close attention to the food in days to come.

Having now finished his food, Éomer leant back in his chair and cast a conspirator smile at the woman.

"There's something else, my friend. Can you keep a secret?" he asked her.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Do you need to ask?" she asked back pointedly. Well, it was not as though he mistrusted her, but technically only his council was supposed to know the latest news. But if Leofrun did not deserve to hear it, then nobody did.

"I have found a bride, Leofrun. We are betrothed to marry next spring", he told her and felt his smile grow into a grin.

Leofrun's eyes lit up and she sat up straighter in her seat.

"That is wonderful news, lad! Who is the lucky lady? And why is it secret?" she asked in excitement, twitching in her chair as though she burned to dash out right now and start immediately to prepare the Hall for a royal wedding.

"It's Imrahil's daughter, Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. We agreed not to speak of it until later in the summer, when we meet in Mundburg. The betrothal will be made public there."

She nodded emphatically.

"I might have guessed! He is a mighty lord and so are his sons, though I'm not sure I liked the look of that youngest one while they were here for poor old Théoden. Still, if she takes after her father, then you have made a favourable match", Leofrun said. Then she directed him a keen stare, "But tell me, lad, is it a political marriage, or do you like this young lady?"

"I do, Leofrun. I know what it looks like, this union between me and a daughter of Imrahil's, but never once think I asked for her hand because of who her father is. Lady Lothíriel is a very special young woman, and she is as wise as she is kind. In the end, I'm not sure I could enter into a marriage without feelings", he told her. Somehow it was easier to admit these private notions and feelings to her than it was to even most of his friends.

Leofrun smiled fondly.

"Indeed. I've always known it, though you try so hard to conceal the truth. But deep down, your heart is as soft as they come. In any case, I am very happy for you", she told him and beamed so brightly, it was as though she was finally hearing that her own wayward son had settled down.

"As am I. It feels good", he said and cast a grin at her before taking a bit more sober tone, "It's months until next spring, and we'll have to keep it quiet for some weeks more, but I suppose I don't have to tell you to start thinking about what to do?"

"Not at all, dear lad. It's a good thing we'll have plenty of time. If you thought Éowyn's wedding was memorable as it was mad, you will soon learn you have seen nothing yet", Leofrun commented cheerfully. "The Queen's rooms will have to be opened and prepared, and I expect I have your leave to give my fullest scrutiny to this old Hall?"

"Indeed you do, Leofrun. I want Meduseld to shine like it never did before – and to show this place to my bride at its best", he told her, which seemed to disconcert the housekeeper a little bit.

"Do you think she will be satisfied with the Golden Hall?" asked Leofrun and looked at him like for the first time, she suspected even her fullest scrutiny might not be enough.

But Éomer waved his hand to dismiss the worry and he smiled.

"No, no. Don't understand wrong. Lady Lothíriel is not like that. If you doubt it, then know that I gave her the traditional bracelet upon our parting. It was nothing but some pearls on woven leather. Yet she looked at the thing like I had given her a dragon's hoard", he explained quickly.

Leofrun visibly relaxed on her seat, though the look she gave him was keen and curious.

"The lady is unusual, isn't she?" asked the housekeeper.

"Indeed she is. But you must meet her yourself, and then you'll know what I mean", Éomer said with a faint smile and pushed back both the tray and the reports. It was clear now he wasn't going to get any work done tonight.

"I look forward to it", Leofrun commented. "It will be a good thing to have a queen in the land again. Though I wonder how much grumbling there will be thanks to your choice. I suppose it was always a known possibility you would take a Gondorian bride, what with the way old ties are being renewed and the many powerful friends you made in the south. But our people will soon be asking what kind of a consort your new queen is going to be. Does she have Rohan's best interests in mind, or will she keep her own ways here in Edoras – even persuade you to take them? It will be said our losses in the war were grievous, and to lose our pride would be too much."

"Indeed? You make interesting points, Leofrun. Have you been eavesdropping on many council meetings?" Éomer asked half-seriously.

She smiled wryly.

"You don't live in the King's household for as long as I have without picking up a few things", she pointed out, which made him chuckle under his breath.

"That is true", he conceded and laced his fingers against the back of his head. He met her eyes thoughtfully, "Nevertheless, I do not think you, or any Rohirrim for that matter, will need to worry over these things. Lady Lothíriel is not a political schemer, and I doubt she will have much interest in meddling in such affairs. Do not understand me wrong. I didn't ask her because I was looking for a 'harmless' consort. It's simply... well, I guess it all comes back to the fact that she's not what you might expect."

"Well, I'm all the more excited to meet this woman. But do not let my words worry you over much. Talk is just talk, and I know you will be a strong king. Théoden did not raise just one mighty son, but two", Leofrun said firmly as she stood up again. It must be getting late at this point; momentarily, Éomer felt a bit guilty for keeping her here for this long.

Still, he couldn't hold back one more question.

"Do you ever wonder if Théodred would have been a better king?" he asked quietly.

Leofrun turned to look at him with a sad smile, but her eyes were kind.

"I do not wonder, lad. And neither should you. It will not help you to carve your own path, trying to be somebody who is gone. You are yourself, Éomer, and that is already a fine thing indeed", she said evenly as she reached to pick up the tray.

Now the young king smiled slightly.

"Thank you, Leofrun", he said, and she returned the smile.

"You're welcome", she simply said, turned and made her way to the door. There she glanced back and said, "Don't stay up too late."

"Not even to write a letter for my bride?" he asked and flashed a grin at her.

"... aye, that you may do. But then I expect you to head straight to bed. Or do you mean to face that bunch of madmen you call your council with a sleepless night behind you?" she inquired back.

"... all right, your ladyship."

* * *

As expected, the royal council took the news with great enthusiasm, even relief. However, as soon as the first glee was over, Éomer's advisers were quick to interrogate him on the character of his bride, what kind of a marriage contract he was planning on negotiating, and whether Imrahil's wealth also meant a generous dowry. They were particularly keen to learn whether he had promised any Rohirric studs as a part of the contract. While he had known to expect these questions, they still made him uncomfortable. It felt all too much like a trade agreement, and generally he disliked this atmosphere where his speedy entrance into matrimony and subsequent breeding were the main objects of veritable obsession, and whatever the hell happened next was of no consequence to anybody.

Leofrun was right. He really _was_ ridiculously soft inside.

Be that as it may, he hoped the betrothal would at last save him from the constant lectures and nagging advisers, not to mention well-meaning friends who were so fond of touting the many glorious aspects of the married state. For the time being, he cast most such thoughts from his mind. Now that he was betrothed, it was easy to focus on other things. Though maybe that was not quite true. The time he had spent worrying over this issue was now simply given to Lothíriel – and, admittedly, a number of ludicrous and whimsical daydreams about her. No doubt many people in Edoras wondered what had happened to their king when they saw him striding with a new spring in his step, or heard him laugh more often and uproariously. And no doubt many guessed close to the mark.

Still, there were those who did not guess, or perhaps had decided to ignore the rumours and signs as long as they were not made official. For only a week after Éomer's return, he spotted Guthild in a street of Edoras when he was returning from an errand to a small village of Snowbourn. She was conveniently standing by the road and caught his eyes before he passed, smiling brightly at him; he nodded as was polite, but he also wondered what had brought her to the capital. His suspicions only grew when he saw her again a couple of days later; she must be staying somewhere in Edoras, perhaps among her kin. A lord like her father would have relatives in the capital, though he himself ruled a town in East-Mark. Still and all, Guthild happened on Éomer a bit too often on the following two weeks for it to be a consequence. Once, she came upon him at the markets, and engaged him a conversation that only ended when Éothain made a not so subtle remark on an impending council meeting. He was quietly glad he was going to be in Mundburg for Mid-year's Day, because the celebrations could get something wild in Rohan, and at this time he felt like a particularly coveted prize.

Excluding a couple of orcish disturbances at the northern borders and a few missing horses, most of the tidings in the Mark were glad and hopeful. Spring sowing had been a success and not even the oldest codgers in Edoras could recall a foaling season quite as outstanding. From Westfold, promising reports came as rebuilding progressed and burned homes were erected anew. After the long, lean winter, the capital and villages were filled with a new bustle, as though the very land had woken up from some dark dream. And not just in Edoras, for he sensed something similar wherever he rode in his kingdom. Everywhere he looked, Éomer felt like he saw traders arriving with all imaginable goods to sell at the markets, or a group of travellers departing, or a new homestead in the process of being built, or a young wife with a growing belly and a beaming husband at her side. But ever and anon he would also spot a more mature woman with a lined face and melancholy eyes or feel pity swell in his breast when he noticed a man with one empty sleeve and by his side, another laboriously making his way with the help of crutches and just one leg. Victory's rewards were clear but so was the cost.

Though a warrior king might not expect it, this time of peace also increased his work, not lessen it. Now that the land was safer again for travelling, and able fighters were not needed at farms to protect them so much, many people recalled a multitude of older and newer issues which, as they thought, needed the King's attention and justice. Many more than just Guthild came to Edoras to seek an audience with him over various matters: family squabbles, a pair of siblings quarrelling over their father's inheritance, two neighbours who had been at war since times immemorial and now couldn't agree where the border between their lands ran, and even a few more serious criminal cases. Trying to find that delicate balance where all parties were satisfied – or at least not too disgruntled – was not always an easy task, and it certainly kept him, a few of his advisers, and a number of lieutenants busy for the month that followed his trip to Dol Amroth. The light, pleasant days of his trip to south were soon but a sweet memory.

However, not all was toil and frustration. Éomer's general mood remained high and hopeful as he thought of his bride. Many an evening he spent in composing letters for her, writing about the comings and goings of Edoras and telling her about his people. Perhaps that way, she would also have some idea of what to expect once she came to Rohan. While he wrote his letters, he imagined her sitting down in her rooms, perhaps on a seat by window that overlooked the sea, to read his words – and at times smiling in that soft, knowing way of hers. Then she would get to her own desk and begin her own letters, which arrived inconspicuously enough, sealed within her father's more formal messages. Her hand was elegant and flowing, like fine spiderweb against the well-made parchment, and her words as thoughtful and singular as ever. Her mind seemed to travel its usual strange paths, but her tone was warm and even affectionate. He devoured her words like a starving man, though they only soothed him so briefly, and then made him more anxious for the meeting in Mundburg – and for that sweet, distant day of spring when he would wed her.

What would it be like? Often Éomer wondered this. He tried to imagine her here, in Meduseld, but somehow in his mind Lothíriel only ever agreed to appear in places where no other Men walked – at the seaside, or the woodland beyond her father's castle. At times, he worried whether she would be at home in Edoras, but though he did not ask it straight, it must have shown in his letters somehow. For it was in her third letter that she wrote: _"Don't think I shall not love your country as my own! If your stories hold true, then I shall feel as much at home in Edoras as I do in Dol Amroth. As long as the heart is free, it may find rest in any place that welcomes it." _

It was an uplifting thought, and many times Éomer returned to that passage in his mind when he looked to the long days ahead. And in the end, there may be more truth to her words than he had previously imagined. For he had not accepted the crown easily, and it seemed to him that she stood alone wherever she went, too strange for a lady's role. Maybe _together_ was indeed a place where their hearts may rest.

Thanks to all the work and demands of the realm, Éomer spent that month mostly in movement. Then sooner than he had realised, Mid-year's Day began to approach. He would have to take to the road soon, if he meant to participate the celebrations in Mundburg. And so it was one night he rose to speak before his household, and announced his regret that he was not going to participate the occasion in Edoras due to important business with King Elessar in south. It was a rare thing for the Lord of the Mark to spend this occasion away from the Mark, and he could see this sentiment in the faces of his folk, but Éomer answered it with a bright smile. Whatever unease was felt tonight, it would surely be forgotten when he returned with some very good tidings.

He was going to see _her_. And until that moment came, he would feel no rest.

* * *

After a long and perhaps a needlessly swift ride, Éomer was nearing Mundburg again. He had pressed on as much as seemed decent, but his Riders did not seem to rue him for it. They were hardy warriors and all of them knew it was as good practice as any. A time might come when true haste was a question of life and death, and all wanted to be prepared for it. But he also saw their knowing smiles and heard some good-natured chuckles. They were well aware of why he was so anxious to get to the White City.

But when they had crossed that next to last leg of the journey, and saw the fields of Pelennor before them and the city beyond, Éomer noticed quickly that they were expected. There, on a great rock by the side of the road that served as something of a milestone between the City and the Great West Road, sat a figure watching the way. Not far was a white mare grazing in the long grass.

For a brief moment Éomer was sure his eyes were deceiving him, but then as he rode closer, he knew it was _her_. Lothíriel had come indeed and he was surprised, though perhaps he shouldn't be. Still, his heart leapt in joy at the sight of her and he felt just how long the past few weeks had been. He had missed her even more than he had expected.

"Welcome back, Sire!" she greeted him when he was at shouting distance and then leapt lightly down from her seat. Éomer rode closer and dismounted quickly to meet her. Her array was again much like that of a common woman, with her plain grey gown of rough homespun and sensible shin-length skirts that wouldn't get in the way. On her waist was a familiar colourful ribbon and the lady's purse she apparently carried with her while on her excursions. But her poise betrayed her, and he suspected if he should get near to her horse, he would see the mare bearing a saddle and bridle so finely made that few commoners could afford their like. Yet even in her homely array, and her hair in a loose braid, she was a sight to warm his heart.

"Thank you, my lady", he replied as he reached her, and was moments away from kissing her there before his Riders. But her appearance here was unusual enough already, and they could find some private spot later on for the appropriate greeting.

So as he reached for her hands, he asked, "How come you here? This is certainly a welcoming I had not expected!"

"It will be pomp and protocol up at the Citadel and I had no patience for it, so I decided to come and meet you here", she said, smiling and shrugging in nonchalance. Her hands were strong and warm in his grasp and even in his confusion, he could appreciate the sensation of touching her after so many weeks. And her voice – her dear, soft voice already made him feel like they had not been parted at all!

"What of your father? Where is your escort?" Éomer asked and looked around, as though a company of Swan Knights might be hiding somewhere in the grass.

"He doesn't know I'm here. I snuck out of my father's town house. It's really much easier than one would expect, though the guards would be horrified to admit that. I took no escort, as they would only hold me back. Surely it doesn't surprise you?" she inquired, eyes twinkling in amusement.

He snorted softly.

"I suppose it should not", he conceded and leant down to kiss her brow, brief and chaste despite a burning desire to effectively tackle her into the soft grass and show just how much he had missed her. It was such an overwhelming notion, he almost missed another strange thing. But looking around himself and this spot which was away even from the furthest homestead in Pelennor, he realised the obvious question.

"How did you know to come and greet us? I don't think even Aragorn knows to expect us today instead of tomorrow, unless he has spied our arrival in that Seeing Stone of his", he wondered out loud.

Lothíriel smiled and shook her head.

"I knew you would be in a hurry, and arrive at least a day early", she said simply and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. Momentarily he closed his eyes in quiet bliss, and then made a soft, growling sound.

"I don't know whether I should be thrilled or worried that you already know me that well", he muttered and she let out a bright little laugh.

"A wife should anticipate her husband's moves, should she not?" she said lightly and squeezed his hands. "But come! Your men and horses must be weary. Let us not keep them waiting any longer."

"Very well. But you must let me escort you back to the house of your father – unless there are other companies you were hoping to greet today?" he asked her pleasantly. She slapped his wrist gently.

"Not that I'm aware of, Sire, but you never know", she replied, unfazed by his teasing.

"In any case", he said to her when they were mounted again and riding side by side for the city, "I hope your father won't be too displeased with you – or me."

"Don't worry about him. You are doing the appropriate thing and returning his wayward daughter home. He's quite used to me making my own way in Dol Amroth, so if he means to be displeased, he will do it later when we are alone", she said and did not sound too worried about the possibility of Imrahil's wrath.

Deciding that was business between her and her father, Éomer took up another topic.

"Have you been long in the city?" he asked her.

"Only a few days, and even that feels like enough. King Elessar has worked hard to make this a bit more welcoming place, and him and the Queen are the most gracious hosts the world has ever known, but I still feel like a bird in cage. I wonder if my aunt Finduilas felt like it, too", she replied and for a moment, a dark shadow seemed to pass over her face.

"I do hope you shan't feel that way in Edoras", he commented in solemn tones and tried to silence a small, nagging voice that had suddenly appeared in his head. He reminded himself that his capital and Mundburg were completely different, and surely the free skies and vast fields suited her better than this place of many walls and innumerable watching eyes.

"No, I don't think I will", she said and her voice was light again. She cast him a smile, "I'm glad you're here. It feels like you've brought sunshine with you, and warmth, and free northern winds."

"You don't get them here in south?" Éomer asked her with a wry smile. He could practically feel himself sitting straighter in his saddle, his shoulders rising higher, as if some burden he had not noticed carrying had fallen down. The ease and light-hearted delight of talking with her were already working wonders.

Lothíriel shrugged.

"Some people just are so full of things. You glow and shine and when you speak, there's fire in your eyes and a wind in your voice, and sometimes a storm. But Father is mostly a sea at rest, though he has a few tempests in him too, and sharp blades, and bright stone. And Elphir glints like steel and starlight, Erchirion feels like white sails and the first note of a harp string, and Amrothos... well, Amrothos is dawn and a summer's day, and sweet white wine that leaves you with a terrible headache if you drink too much of it", she answered, first speaking as though it was some universal truth known to all, and then more thoughtfully, almost to herself. He blinked and looked at her in wonder. How had he managed to forget that his bride was strange?

She shook her head and smiled at him again.

"I beg your pardon. I get fanciful when I spend too much time inside stone walls", she told him like she was very amused by her own words.

"No need to apologise. I'm not so lacking in sense of humour or imagination that I can't appreciate your whims", he told her, which caused her to cast him a teasing look that was so young and merry, one might wonder if she had ever had a serious thought. And yet he knew how far from the truth such notion would be.

"So the King of Rohan is not the sworn enemy of nonsense and fancy after all?" she asked him lightly, and her high spirits roused his own even more.

"I know it may shock you, but no, he is not", he replied, as though admitting her into some grave secret. And they both laughed like a pair of fools.

During this light, possibly quite ludicrous exchange, they had reached the gates of the city, already open for them. Far above in the Citadel, Éomer could hear silver trumpets welcoming him – an honour reserved only to select few. So the news of his arrival had reached Aragorn. No wonder. Lothíriel was not the only one in these parts who had known to expect him.

"Ah, the pomp has already begun", she sighed and wrinkled her nose as they rode through the gates and guards of the city shouted their greetings to the arriving Lord of the Mark.

"I'm afraid a king cannot escape it, wherever he goes", he said to her. "Nor will you, once you are queen."

"Still, it's not as bad in Edoras, is it?" she asked him.

"It depends entirely of what your definition of bad is, but surely things are different in my land. Thengel, my grandfather, liked to put some distance between himself and his folk. But Théoden was a king for the people and he often went among them, at least until his older age. I think I'd rather like to fashion myself after my uncle. Peace-time kings may focus more matters of lineage and the nature of their office, perhaps", Éomer said, looking ahead on the road they were to travel to the Citadel.

"But you were made king on a battlefield", she said thoughtfully. "Does that mean you will always be a war-king?"

"Who knows?" Éomer asked back, and then gave her a lopsided smile, "You might, I think."

He thought she looked a little surprised, but he couldn't pursue the matter, for a moment they needed to focus on manoeuvring their horses through the busy main street of the first level. But they were made way quickly enough, and it was not long before they reached the second gate.

"My father has a town-house at the sixth level of the city, like most of the nobles. You can leave me there", she said, though she sounded like she would rather be going anywhere else in the world, if she could decide.

"So, you truly do not like it here in Mundburg?" he asked her, and she looked at him curiously; then he recalled she probably didn't know that Mundburg was the name Rohirrim had for Minas Tirith.

When he had explained that, she replied, "Not particularly. It feels too much like a fortress – which it is, of course. Osgiliath was where you went if you wanted beauty and song and poetry and the sound of running water, or to the happy Dol Amroth far from the shadow. Minas Tirith was merely a watch tower of the men of Númenor. There is irony in it, don't you think, that the greatest city of our age is nothing but a garrison of the old world", said Lothíriel and she let out something that sounded like a wistful sigh.

"Then do you wish you were born in some other time and place?" he wanted to know and realised that he was a little bit worried about what her response might be.

But she smiled slightly and waved her hand.

"Not in the way you might think. I don't deny I have sometimes dreamt such things, but not anymore. Now I'm curious to see what happens next", she said, and Éomer gazed at her, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. But Éothain coughed somewhere nearby, and the young king tried to focus on riding through the streets of the White City.

From the lower levels they ascended towards the top. Most workmen, servants of noble houses and low-ranking guards of the city lived in these parts with their families, but the further they rode, the bigger and richer the houses were. There was clearly a section for the craftsmen and then their masters, and wealthy merchants who traded in foreign lands. Lothíriel told him there were even a few families that had risen through the ranks of society by prowess on battlefield or faithfully serving the Stewards in civil offices. At the sixth level, like she had said, lived most of the city's nobles. Other great lords and ladies of the realm, like Imrahil, also had lodgings in this part of Mundburg, though they often spent most of their time at their own manor houses and castles out in the country. In times before, it had struck Éomer how many of these homes had looked empty and unlived. But now some life was returning, and there was noise in courtyards and faces peering out of windows which had been dark the last time he had visited. Even the city's smell had changed. He smiled to himself. A sure way to spot a dwelling place of Men was always the smell.

In the street, not a few people stopped by to watch as the King of Rohan rode by; a few children even ran after them, though knowing to keep their distance to the great warhorses of the North. But on the higher levels many eyes lingered not just on the King and his Riders, but also the lady riding next to him. Éomer suspected it wouldn't be such sensational news when the betrothal was made public, but Lothíriel probably did not care one way or the other. At least, she did not seem to even be aware of being observed.

Eventually they reached the gates of her father's house. It was by the main street and the gates were adorned by Imrahil's coat of arms, the Swan and the Ship riding the waves.

"Here I must leave you, Sire, but I believe we shall meet later today", Lothíriel said as she dismounted.

"Indeed", he agreed, and though he knew his company was eager to reach the stables that were not far off now, he lingered still next to her horse. Éomer said, "Maybe you are right about pomp and protocol. At least, your way of greeting me is much better than some stiff and awkward encounter at the Citadel."

She smiled brightly.

"I knew you would approve", she said lightly as she collected the reins of her mare. "Oh, and when you see my father, tell him I have already returned."

The young king raised an eyebrow.

"Should I expect him to be very upset?" he asked.

"Maybe a little bit. It's an unfamiliar city and he thinks I'll get lost, or robbed, or ravished – something along those lines", she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"Well, I shall let him know you have been spared from such fates", he said, and wondered how warranted Imrahil's fears were now that Aragorn was doing so much to restore the city. But that was a concern for another time. He nodded his head and said, "Farewell for now, my lady; I shall see you later."

The company urged their horses into moving again, and Lothíriel was left behind to deal with guards and servants of her father's household, probably already distressed at her absence. But the King and his Riders made their way towards the stables near the entrance of Citadel. When Imrahil's house was well behind, Éothain rode to Éomer's side and spoke abruptly.

"I know you don't need my opinions but still – I can't imagine Imrahil feeling too delighted if he knew how his daughter sneaks out without an escort. Nor do I think her husband would like it", he commented in a low voice so that the other Riders would not hear him.

Éomer directed a sharp glare at his captain.

"Then leave that concern to those two men", he said sternly. "I don't recall you sending escorts after Éowyn when she was unwed and wanted to go riding alone."

"Your sister was never as guarded and sheltered, and only a deranged fool would give her trouble. She can handle herself", Éothain pointed out.

"And perhaps so can my bride. There are other ways of defending oneself. That young woman could probably poison you ten different ways with her herbs before you ever guessed anything was wrong", said the young king stubbornly.

"But she is to be the queen consort of my king, and it's my job to keep you and your family safe. I don't see how I can do that if she will be sneaking out all alone", Éothain muttered. "Much like someone else I could name."

"Don't be so hard on her. She's still a free maiden, even if she is betrothed", Éomer grunted back, but the captain met his look with a grim stare.

"Aye, betrothed to marry the King of Rohan. Even a free maiden might give some thought to that", he said, and then spoke no more.

His captain's words might have troubled Éomer for longer and deeper, had there been time for it. But they had now reached the entryway of the Citadel and it was time to go meet Aragorn. In the middle of reunions and formalities and meeting the many people who were waiting for him, he would have enough to keep him too busy to dwell on other matters.

* * *

"There you are, brother! I'm not sure I've ever seen you looking quite as fine as tonight!"

Éowyn's words were spoken in a bright, excited voice as she dashed through his room to envelope him in a mighty hug. She and Faramir had arrived only a couple of hours ago, just in time for the grand betrothal feast. Éomer had expected them yesterday, but apparently some matters had kept his sister and her husband in Ithilien for an additional day. How Faramir had managed to hold back Éowyn, who was so eager to meet her brother's new bride, Éomer could not say. And come to think of it, he preferred not knowing.

With a laugh he received her and returned the hug just as tightly.

"I pass the muster, then?" he asked warmly as he pushed her back a little bit so that he could see her face. Éowyn was positively glowing with health and good cheer and she was grinning at him as though a child on her name-day.

"Indeed you do! Brother mine, if half the single ladies of this court don't leave the feast with their hearts broken, I shall be most surprised", she said lightly. "Béma, I can't wait to meet this bride of yours!"

"Be gentle with her, Éowyn. Don't interrogate her too harshly. Lothíriel is a brave young woman, but you're still the Slayer of the Witch-king, and I don't want any misguided notions of what is good enough for me to cloud your judgement", he told her and his voice came out more serious than he had intended.

His sister smiled.

"Don't worry, brother. I did not come here to disapprove of your choice, or to intimidate her. I do genuinely want us to be friends and sisters", she told him calmly as she turned to pour them some wine to drink. As ever, his rooms were richly furnished to serve every need he might have, with well-made furniture, fine tapestries and even a sitting area for entertaining guests. The White Tree was a common motif in decorations and so were the seven stars of the royal line of Elendil. The guest rooms were in the very Tower of Ecthelion, with windows overlooking the city; only Aragorn and Arwen had better views. No mortal man was as finely kept in Middle-earth, which was probably part the reason he felt like an oliphaunt whenever he entered the room, about to tear down all the fine and delicate things without even meaning it.

"I am glad to hear it. She is eager to meet you, too", said the young king as he accepted a goblet from her.

"But when do I get to talk to her? I have no doubt it will next to impossible tonight", Éowyn wanted to know.

"Imrahil has invited us to luncheon tomorrow. I didn't even have to ask him to arrange it. You'll get your chance then, I imagine", he replied and took a sip of his wine. He would have to be careful with the drinks tonight, because Lothíriel herself made him giddy enough and he did not need the help of any beverages.

"Excellent. That man never disappoints", Éowyn said fondly. She had taken instant liking to Imrahil, partly because he had been the one to discover she was still alive on the Pelennor fields, and partly because he was Faramir's dearly beloved uncle.

She sat down near the window, holding the goblet between her hands, and inquired, "How long are you staying in the city?"

"A week or so, at least until after Mid-year's Eve, but we'll see. It's a rare opportunity, because we don't yet know how often Lothíriel can be here during autumn and winter, and I doubt I can make another trip to Dol Amroth this year", he replied and took seat as well. With his bride's dislike of Mundburg, he suspected she wasn't keen on staying here for lengthy periods.

"In that case, I expect you will be spending most of your time with her", Éowyn said and smiled knowingly.

"I shall try to give some time to you as well, sister."

"No need! There will be opportunities for that later. As a married woman's advice, you should enjoy your courtship as much as your can. It's good to make many good memories for the long winter of parting and waiting", she said sagely.

Éomer could not help but grimace at the thought of endless months ahead.

"Don't remind me. I still am not sure I shall make it to spring with my sanity intact", he told her, but his sister just laughed.

"Béma, I don't envy Éothain and Leofrun. They will have their hands full with you", she said merrily. "How is old Leofrun, by the way?"

"She is well. She sends her love, and asks when do you plan on visiting your old home."

A bittersweet look crossed Éowyn's features. She too had taken comfort in Leofrun's kind words and care when they had first come to Meduseld as orphans.

"I would love to come, but I doubt it will be possible before next spring. Don't ever think I would miss your wedding, though! I shall be there, even if I were on my deathbed and they had to carry me all the way from Ithilien", Éowyn said, clearly meaning the words as humorous, but he still felt a sharp twinge in his breast. The ideas of Éowyn and deathbed remained among the nightmares that came to him at times.

Something tight had probably appeared on his features, for she quickly went on, "I will write Leofrun a letter. Will you bring it to her? I know she can't read, but maybe you can help with that, too?"

"Of course. I think she would be delighted to have some of your own words to hear, not just tidings from me. She's always telling me I have nothing to report on the truly important matters", Éomer replied, relaxing once more and taking another small sip of wine.

Éowyn's eyes glittered.

"That, I can believe", she said emphatically and put down her goblet. "I think we should get going. We don't want to miss your betrothal feast, brother."

"Yes, that would be unseemly", he replied and flashed a grin at his sister.

Before they started for Merethrond, Éomer made one final preparation: he picked up his coronet from its casket. It was a rare thing for him to bring it away from Meduseld, but his betrothal feast was a matter of both personal and political importance. He was almost in his full regalia, but he had abandoned his cloak, and even the soft under-shirt he usually wore under his ceremonial tunic – he knew full well how warm the Hall of Feasts could be in this time of summer when it was packed full with guests. When he had placed the coronet upon his head, he felt strangely self-conscious. Anxiously he checked his tunic, the usual green with rich golden embroidery at the hem and sleeves, smoothed the knees of his soft buckskin trousers, and even his polished boots received a studious glance. Before, he had tidied up his beard and made braids in his hair. He hoped _she_ would like it. At least, she had not complained about the beard before, and knowing her character, braids should merely be delightful.

Éowyn noticed, of course.

"Don't worry, brother. You clean up nicely", she reassured him, eyes sparkling brightly.

"If you say so", he replied, and with that, the two siblings made their way out.

It seemed Aragorn had invited the entire city, or so Éomer suspected by the endless line of guests marching inside. The herald announced their names as they came through the open doors. Once they reached the other end of the Hall, where Éomer was seated with Aragorn and Arwen, they bowed and curtsied in greeting. From there they joined the many little companies already gathered inside. Aragorn shared remarks over this or that guest at times, speaking of their homelands in southern fiefs – a matter mostly of dim lore to Éomer, though he had travelled through some of them. But he was glad for the information and made a mental note of having to recall it. Their lands had been closed to Rohan for much longer than the realm of Eorlingas had existed, but now that the curse was broken and its terror was lifted, the Dimholt Road held great promise for future. Once it was inspected and made more suitable for use, there would be many new connections and alliances made both in trade, labour and kinship. Many faces and names he knew from the aftermath of the Ring War, but there were some unfamiliar too. There were young nobles fresh to the King's court, but also lords and ladies of more distant parts of Gondor, who had not previously dared to leave their homes for so long a journey.

As ever, Éowyn and Faramir caused a stir when they arrived – apparently they were a popular couple wherever they went in Gondor. No wonder, for they were a handsome pair. It was easy to like them, for they were just and fair, kind towards the weak and the needy, and their deeds in the Ring War made them living legends. Their tale was already told in many songs both in Rohan and Gondor. And yet, when Éomer saw the way they looked at one another, he thought all their other virtues fell second to the love they shared with each glance.

At least he would no longer have to feel envy over that happiness, or the guilt that always followed the envy.

The last arrivals created another stir. There came Imrahil's sons and finally the Prince himself, his arm linked with Lothíriel. She was a vision to behold. Her dark hair was a mass of braids on her head, decked with pearls here and there. Her gown of Amrothian blue revealed her back almost to shoulder blades and the neckline was generous as well, and Éomer knew he was going to be admiring all that exposed skin in a fairly barbaric fashion. The sleeves, split nearly to armpits, seemed somewhat superfluous. Along shoulders and on the front of the bodice there was a mass of star-shaped embroideries in silver. More pearls adorned her fair, proud neck. Now she truly looked like a queen, and doubtlessly many others thought so as well and already guessed the purpose of this feast. Still, her eyes held that same calm, knowing look that he had seen in them whether she was standing in ceremony, or wandering the woods in search of herbs. What manner of a woman did her people take her for? Perhaps tonight would give him some idea.

Imrahil and Lothíriel made their way to where the two kings and the queen were seated. A low murmur rose in the crowd, and then both Éomer and Aragorn rose up. From the corner of his eye, the Rohir saw his friend smiling slightly at the Amrothians and nodding in acknowledgement. Then he gazed around in his court, which was now silently waiting for the news that were already known to all who had eyes.

"My lords and ladies, it's both an honour and a pleasure for me to make it known that our friend and ally, King Éomer of Rohan, has asked for the hand of Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, daughter of Prince Imrahil. She has accepted him indeed and her father has given them his blessing. Tonight we are gathered to celebrate this union, which ties our peoples together once more with a stronger alliance than ever. Let us drink to the health of King Éomer and his bride, and wish them all the blessings of peace and prosperity!" Aragorn spoke in a strong, glad voice. His face beamed as though nothing could please him more than this very thing.

He then turned to look at Imrahil. The Prince was smiling as well and only his eyes betrayed how bittersweet this moment was for him; he was sure and steadfast when he placed Lothíriel's hand in Éomer's own in the age-old gesture of blessing and approval. Among the guests rose a polite applause – quite a different reaction as the one he expected to receive once these news were made known in Edoras.

The young king felt like his heart might just burst out of his chest, such was the furious pace of it. He wished to laugh, or maybe dance, or just lift her high from the ground and turn and turn until they were both dizzy. But he did not do those things – he just pressed his fingers tight against hers and smiled so that his face hurt. Even with the months of waiting and restlessness ahead of him, this moment he felt nothing but happiness, and she returned his smile, perhaps not quite so crazed but her eyes sparkled with an inner light that told him all he needed to know. His eyes never left hers as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

When he did, he saw her wrist was not bare. There rested the bracelet he had given her, and its rustic crudeness was only made more glaring compared to the rest of her array.

"You're still wearing it", he said and his eyes darted between her and the bracelet.

"Of course I am. I've never taken it off since you put it there. It's the first thing you gave me", said Lothíriel with a slight smile and a shrug, and she was so unfazed by the question, he did not make any further comments. How the other guests, dressed in their finest jewels, must have wondered at the hand-made bracelet! But he felt intense tenderness for her, seeing that such a small thing from him would be so important in her eyes.

A chair was then brought and placed next to Éomer's own, for now Lothíriel was not just a Lady of Dol Amroth anymore, but a king's bride, and she took seat with her bridegroom and the King and Queen of Gondor. He could not turn his eyes away from her. Transfixed, he stared and marvelled at the grace of her movement as she held her skirts, sat down, and arranged them carefully about her legs. He might have kept staring at her hadn't Éowyn and Faramir arrived to congratulate them, first among the guests and very much entitled to it.

His sister was grinning happily, and while Faramir's expression was more collected, his joy was no lesser.

"Best of luck and happiness to you both! I'm so happy for you, I think I might burst", Éowyn said and looked momentarily as though she might jump to hug her brother there against all the expectations of etiquette. But to Lothíriel she gave a keen, studious look, and he saw his bride returning it evenly. Here there were two singular women, both strong-willed and raised among men, but in rather different ways. He could only wonder what they made of one another.

"As am I. This is a wonderful day for us all, though I suspect it also makes us the punchline of many jokes about how we married each other's families", said Faramir lightly, though his eyes seemed to take note of that long look between his wife and cousin as well.

"Tonight, I find that I do not care", Éomer said, grinning at all three of them. "Lothíriel, this maniac here is my sister Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien and the Lady of Shield-arm. Sister, meet my bride Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Éowyn. Éomer speaks fondly of you", Lothíriel said warmly as she regarded Éowyn.

"I am glad to meet you as well, Lady Lothíriel. At last I may see for myself what kind of a woman has brought my proud, stern brother into such a state. His letters have not made any sense for weeks now", said Éowyn with a soft laugh. Éomer snorted out loud, but Lothíriel looked amused.

"If that is indeed so, then I cannot say I'm terribly sorry", she said and touched his hand briefly.

"We shall speak more tomorrow, but tonight is yours. Enjoy it!" said Éowyn before she and Faramir took their leave again. They were followed by many other lords and ladies intent on congratulating the King and his future queen. Every once in a while, Éomer watched Lothíriel from the corner of his eye and was glad to see how gracefully she met each well-wisher, smiling and thanking them like a born queen. And still he recalled as he had seen her at times, either in a commoner's dress, or apron-clad and hands stained with earth and leaf. The thought made him smile, especially when he imagined her sitting next to him with a lap full of herbs.

A while later they joined the first dance of the evening. Lothíriel laughed softly when he leant down to whisper to her that this time, he would try not to make any shocking propositions to her and thus drive her off.

"That is good, for I would very much like to have at least one full dance with my bridegroom", she whispered back, and they took their positions among the other couples.

"You shall have more than just one, if you'd like", he told her, and they began to move with the music and the other dancers around them. Court dances were more complicated here in Mundburg, and he had to focus more on his footwork, which left him with fewer opportunities for teasing and bantering with his bride.

The second dance was easier and the music lighter. Éomer spent most of it admiring her, and she was a vision indeed, so light and easy on her feet. He felt like in a dream. He was not dancing on this floor for the first time, but it had never been like this. Here he had feasted his his brothers in arms, a little bit uneasy in the formality of the seat of Kings in Gondor. Of _her _he had only known her face and her strange words, and her absence had left a vague sense of discontent that had followed him even back to Rohan. How different was this setting! For now Lothíriel was with him as his bride, and all the future spread before them, full of promise – and, indeed, sunlight.

But suddenly in a middle of a twirl Lothíriel stumbled. She would probably have crashed to a couple next to them, hadn't Éomer caught her just in time. Holding her carefully by arms, he saw her eyes were glazed and unseeing.

He moved her away from the dancing crowd, containing his panic as he could. Was she sick? Should he call for a healer from the Houses?

"Lothíriel? Are you well?" he asked her anxiously.

She was still for a moment, and then shook her head. She looked up at him and her eyes were clear again.

"No, I'm not sick. I just need some air", she told him.

Without a further word, Éomer guided her outside. It was rather warm and stuffy in Merethrond indeed, and even as Imrahil's daughter, she was new to the kind of attention which had been given to her tonight.

Cool, fresh air hit him like a wall. It was the world of difference compared to the compact atmosphere of Merethrond. Lothíriel seemed to feel something similar, for she lifted up her face, and then she breathed deeply in and out.

"That's more like it. I'm never quite sure how to breathe in there", she said and gently tugged at his hand. She lead him further into the Court of Fountain, and nearer to the wall of the Citadel. They passed the White Tree – the slender, strong sapling which stood as the symbol of new flowering of Elendil's line on the throne of Gondor. The night was gentle and fair and the moon had already risen. Below in the city and the Pelennor fields, countless little lights twinkled like stars. And further over the fields Anduin glittered in moonlight like a rope of silver. It was a fine view, one could not deny that.

"Do you get that feeling in Dol Amroth?" he inquired softly.

She shook her head.

"Not at all. It's different there, not only because my father's court is smaller. Dol Amroth preserves some memory of the days of bliss in Númenor. Here, in my lifetime, there was always a gloom and a sense of foreboding hanging over the city. And as the city declined, people declined, too. It's different now, of course; King Elessar has made sure of that. Yet I still feel the memory of Shadow in this place, even if it has departed for good", she answered slowly as she gazed over the city and the fields, somewhere beyond into the wilderness.

Éomer did not wonder, at least not much. He knew by now she was sensitive to things unseen and unsaid, and Mundburg had so long stood within sight of Mountains of Shadow – and the dark land beyond. There was still a stain in the very earth of that place, or so it was said. Could Men ever liver there again? One could only wonder.

"I do hope you will like it in Edoras. It''s not as grand as these southern fortresses, but I have a feeling you won't mind it", he said and stole a glance of her face.

She smiled and shook her head.

"Based on what I have heard from you, and from others, I'm sure I will love it. One does not need a castle to be content", she said, making him smile as well. Even so, he felt like he should explain a bit more.

"Rohirrim are not builders. Of old we lived as nomads, wandering freely with our horses and sheep and cattle. In such a life, you had to be able to carry your home with you. It's only in Rohan that we started to put down some roots in the land, build mead-halls and homesteads. Yet many of our folk still live in the old way, only settling down for the coldest time of winter."

Lothíriel listened to him with shining eyes, looking almost wistful.

"Do you think it very odd I can imagine us living like that? You breeding and training magnificent horses, and me – I might be a healer, and make remedies from herbs. We would have a small tent of our own, and our children would run free in the heather."

He raised an eyebrow.

"That is indeed an unusual dream for a lady of the high lord of Gondor and of an old line of Westernesse", he admitted, surprised though he knew he probably shouldn't be. He went on, "Mind you, our songs and tales say it was not an easy life. Before Eorl brought his people to Rohan, they were hard pressed at all sides. Winters were harsh on the young, Man and animal alike, and even then good land was never in plenty. Orcs came ever and anon from mountains and carried off whatever and whomever they could catch. Our songs recall it as a fair land, but perilous and full of grief, and in many ways the Mark was and still is our refuge."

"So in a way, we are both Exiled peoples", she noted, tilting her head as she regarded him. "I never thought of that."

"Well, perhaps to a different degree. Ancestors of Rohirrim never left Middle-earth in the first place, and in my people's case, coming to Rohan was undoubtedly an improvement", he pointed out and leaned his elbows against the balustrade. She stood next to him, smiling slightly, and he had to admit he could see it all: a life with her in some small tent, far away in the northern lands of his longfathers of old. Yet perhaps his imagination served him so easily because she was already a part of his future, no matter the circumstances.

"Still, though my people had their kingdom in the lap of sea and resided a while within sight of the Blessed Realm, the first mother of my line came from that same land of Hildórien where your line's first father awakened", she said thoughtfully and reached to brush his hand ever so slightly.

"You speak of it so easily, as though you were there. For me, it's less than a dream – less than a legend", he said. But Lothíriel smiled.

"How can you know where you are going, if you don't where you are coming from?" she merely said. Éomer had no idea of how to respond it, and apparently she did not expect him to.

She let out a soft, contented sigh as she leant against the balustrade and lifted her face, as if to bask in moonlight. Softly she spoke, "I do love the night-time and moonlight. I always did, even as a little girl. Often I would sneak out of Father's castle to go swim in the sea in the middle of the night. That's why he sometimes calls me Ithiliel, his Moondaughter."

_Ithiliel_. The word was like a song, just as her other name. Certainly it suited her.

"That is a lovely name", he commented and moved a little bit closer. "But I'm not surprised you had such habits. As your future husband, might I ask you not to sneak outside too much, though? I'm not sure how I'll sleep my nights, knowing my lady wife is skulking Béma knows where in the dark."

She let out a soft little laugh.

"Skulking? You make me sound like quite the sinister character", she commented.

"I'm sure a few lords in my land might think of you just so when they hear I'm no longer available to their daughters. But they'll know better once we are married", he said confidently.

Lothíriel gave him a lopsided smile.

"Are you sure the tent is not an option?" she asked him, making him laugh.

"I'm afraid not. But I'm certain we shall be very happy in Meduseld", said Éomer, and quickly he leant down to kiss her. It was brief and soft and sweet, and he felt light and glad. And there was a special warmth in her face just a moment after the kiss, though it quickly passed.

She looked at him with thoughtful eyes.

"I was thinking... I'm going to bear you sons. And a couple of daughters, too", she said, and her voice was quiet and faraway.

He looked at her and felt more astonished than ever. How did she do it, the way she moved so effortlessly between past, present and future? Then again, maybe there was no other than what Imrahil himself had said: _in her the blood of Mithrellas of the Elves runs nearly true._

"What makes you say that?" he asked, nevertheless.

Lothíriel looked out again and shrugged. She smiled slightly as she linked her arm with his, tugging him back again towards the Hall of Feasts.

"Just a feeling."

_To be continued._

* * *

**A/N: **I swear, this chapter was not meant to be this long! What can I say? This story tends to go to the more robust side, and I suppose the corona lockdown is not without consequences. Also, I watched _Tolkien _the film again and cried like a baby. I honestly don't know why it did not get a better review when it first came out.

I did enjoy writing this one, though, and Éomer being his lovesick self is a delightful thing. Lothíriel, too, had some surprises for me in store for this chapter.

In any case, they are betrothed now, and we shall see what this union shall bring to them!

Merethrond is the Great Hall of Feasts in Minas Tirith. It's located in the Citadel of the city, or the seventh circle, as were other royal courts. There was also the Court of the Fountain where the White Tree grew. It first grew from the sapling Isildur brought from Númenor (and which had its ultimate ancestry in Valinor), but the Tree was dead by the time of the War of the Ring. However, Aragorn discovered a young sapling on the slopes of Mount Mindolluin, one of the mountains above Minas Tirith. It was brought down by him and planted anew in the Court of Fountain to signal the dawn of new age. The White Tree was the ancient device of the Kings of Númenor and Gondor, and the seven stars were a common motif in Middle-earth. They referred to a famous constellation Valacirca (or the Big Dipper), and were a symbol of Elendil's House. These were also depicted in Aragorn's own banner, made for him by Arwen.

As for Rohirrim, they were not native to the land known as Rohan by the time of the events of _Lord of the Rings. _Their ancestors, the Éothéod were of old called Northmen, who remained in Middle-earth after the events of the First Age. They lived in the Vales of Anduin and north of Mirkwood. During the early Third Age, Éothéod were the allies of Gondor in south. They were often harried by Easterlings and orcs. Later in the time of Steward Cirion of Gondor, Éothéod answered his call to aid in the Battle of the Field of Celebrant, and thanks to their valour were gifted the land of Calenardhon (later Rohan) in the then western part of Gondor. Eorl was their chief in this time and he lead his people to the new land, where he founded a new kindgom, and was later known as the legendary first king of Rohan. He was also the king who tamed Felaróf, a wild stallion of _mearas_. Rohirrim believed this extraordinary breed of horses was first brought out of Valinor by Oromë (or Béma, as he was known by Rohirrim), and they could only be ridden by Eorl's heirs.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! And don't forget, your comments are always most helpful for me in my writing! As ever, stay safe and healthy!

* * *

**SwanKnightoftheNorth** \- Glad if you liked it! But whether there's something going on with her, I'm afraid the story must tell it!

**sai19 - **Whoopsie, looks like this one is even longer! ;) I should hope Éothain's point of view suggests that Éomer may be blind to some things.

In any case, don't hesitate to tell me your theories any time! I'm always curious and glad to hear what my readers think will happen next!

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Thank you! I hope this one is worth the wait, too. :)

**EStrunk - **He is a delight, indeed. :) I think Lothíriel is quite delighted with him, too. And I admit I have been enjoying the parts with him and Éowyn in this one, too!

**JennyVDM - **She has her reasons, but she may be reluctant to reveal them! I'm glad you like this story. :)

**Boramir - **I think certain parties will be delighted with this union, and others not so much!

**Jo - **Thanks! And I know what you mean - I've become quite the police for other people's behaviour, and I'm just appalled when I see them rampantly ignoring cautionary measures. It's dreadful some people (who may even be in the risk groups) think it's not an issue at all.

**Wondereye - **I'm afraid that is for the story to tell!

**blasttyrant - **I am very glad to hear it!

You are quite correct - she keeps her mysteries still. I would be intersted to hear your theory, of course.

I hope you stay safe, too!

**Katia0203 - **Thank you! I admit I very much liked that part, too. I think Éomer is the kind of man who puts more meaning in things he made himself. Thankfully, she's a kind of woman who would agree with him.

He is very much biased in the way he regards her, so other characters (like Éothain) would definitely have a different view. But we will see how all this turns out!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10  
**

The ball continued late into the night, full of music and laughter and dancing, and Éomer thought he had never felt quite so happy in the Great Hall of Feasts of Merethrond. As it appeared, he was not discreet about it: he overheard a couple of guests wondering at his mood, and debating whether the match was not a political one after all.

"Men who marry for duty don't look at their wives like he does at her", one of them said, quite unaware of him listening. The young king had hard time not grinning.

His bride's eyes glittered when he quietly told her, "I think we are in danger of being exposed. People are starting to think I'm not marrying you solely for the chance of whispering into your father's ear."

She laughed softly under her breath and gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

"Father will be so disappointed", she whispered back, making him chuckle. With that, she pulled him with her into yet another dance. If his feet did not ache in the morning from all the dancing, it would be a wonder.

It was closer to midnight when she and her father took their leave of of the ball, and the young king was thinking of finding his bed as well, when Elphir quietly came to his side. Éomer nodded in greeting and Imrahil's eldest son returned the gesture.

"Well", he said in a low voice as he lifted his glass, "this has been something."

"Indeed? You sound like someone who has been watching a disturbing scene unfold", Éomer noted, raising an eyebrow.

Elphir let out a low, wry laugh.

"Do I? Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to appear as though my sister's happiness is naught to me. For she is happy, more than I recall her being in a long time. You obviously have a way with her unlike anyone else I know", he explained and cast a thoughtful look at him. In that look, there was something that strangely reminded Éomer of Lothíriel herself – some discerning and recognition that went deeper than flesh.

Elphir shook his head, and he went on, "It's just I didn't think this day would come. None of us did, really."

"Why didn't you? Why were you so convinced she must remain alone?" Éomer asked, and Elphir gave him a sharp look. Deciding the usual course of honesty was always the best one, the young king let out a sigh and continued to speak, "I heard you talk with you father. The day we rode to the vineyard. You both were so sure she was going to refuse me."

"So you heard that? Maybe I shouldn't be surprised", Elphir said and seemed to shake himself. "Please don't take it as an insult. I know your quality, and my sister is lucky to have you. But she is... well, you know how she is. For a long time, she believed she would be happier and safer if she remained alone."

"Safer?" asked Éomer curiously.

Elphir looked almost frustrated as he deliberated on his next words.

"I don't know what you told her", he said at length, rather ignoring the question, "but you must have made a strong impression on her. Otherwise, she would have refused you – even if she felt fondly for you."

Éomer looked at his friend in surprise. Elphir guessed so close to the mark, and reminded him of what he himself had wondered at the time. The night of the ball in Dol Amroth, her sudden flight when he had first proposed, and the doubt which had lingered until very last moment... he opened his mouth to speak, but Elphir shook his head.

"Don't mind me. I'm saying more than I should, and she would not thank me for meddling", he said briskly and took a swig of his wine. He directed a keen look at the Rohir and added, "Be good to my sister, and have patience with her. That's all I ask. Her trust is not easily won but you have it, and in time, maybe, she will answer every question that you have."

Éomer would have liked to question his friend further, but something about the man's features told him it would be useless. And perhaps Elphir had a point. Lothíriel's secrets were her own to share. She would not thank her brother for giving them out – or her bridegroom going behind her back.

All the same, the conversation did not leave his thoughts for the rest of that night, and Elphir's words remained with him even as he finally collapsed in his bed.

* * *

"I'm sure she will be perfectly lovely", Éowyn whispered to Éomer as they entered the entrance hall of Imrahil's town-house. It was the day after the betrothal feast and the much awaited luncheon was at hand. The young king had hard time containing his impatience and eagerness. Apparently, it was very amusing to his sister, who would not stop smiling in gentle humour.

"Was I ever that nervous?" asked Faramir good-naturedly from Éowyn's side.

"If you were, you did a good job of hiding it. But you are far more subtle than my brother. Talk about a fool in love", she commented brightly.

"I'm right here, sister, and I can hear you", Éomer commented, bristling.

"Of course you are, and of course you can", she said and patted his arm fondly. At some other time, he would gladly have jumped at the challenge, but one could not well spar verbally with one's sister while greeting the family of one's future wife.

The house was as grand as the young king had expected, and oddly reminiscent of the castle by the sea. Swans and ships were a common motif here as well, though the sea was far away. Still, Éomer felt like he could see why Lothíriel did not feel at home in this place. There was something amiss in the town house, and best he could figure, it was because it did not feel lived in. Imrahil and his family did not spend much time in Mundburg, or so he guessed.

The Prince and his family came to greet the guests. Éomer, of course, had only eyes for his bride. She stood next to her father and smiled as though she knew exactly what he thought. Faramir received the warm welcome of a family member, but towards the two Rohirrim there was perhaps a slight sense of formality. After all, they had not visited Imrahil's town house before, and Éowyn was meeting her future sister-in-law for the first time.

"Welcome, my friends! We're delighted you're here – and glad Aragorn could spare you", said Imrahil and cast a smile at Éomer.

The young king met the smile with one of his own.

"Thankfully, he's a sensitive man. He knows well enough I am quite useless at the moment", he said lightly, at which Imrahil laughed. The eyes of his daughter glimmered in gentle amusement.

"He's a wise man, indeed", Imrahil conceded and then gestured further down the hallway. "Please come, and make yourselves comfortable!"

"I was thinking Lady Éowyn might want to see the garden. It's not much compared to Ithilien, but in this city there are not many like it", Lothíriel put in and cast a hopeful look at Éowyn. Éomer did so too. His bride had introduced the perfect opportunity for them to talk in private.

"It would be my pleasure", said Éowyn with a bright smile. "Faramir tells me his uncle indeed has some of Gondor's finest gardens, both here and in Dol Amroth."

"He is overly generous to family, but I shall forgive it, knowing the love behind his words", Imrahil said warmly, smiling at his step-son.

"I speak as I see", Faramir shot back, and somehow this light exchange helped to ease the mood on the whole party. Some of Éomer's anxiety subsided. Éowyn would love Lothíriel as a sister and all would be well.

The two women made their way outside, but Imrahil lead the others to what looked to be the family's private drawing room. He gestured his guests to take seats, and poured them drinks from a decanter nearby. Éomer received a glass, and did his best to follow the light conversation others were making. But often his thought drifted to his sister and his bride. It was clear they didn't need him hovering, but he couldn't help it: he was desperately curious to know whether they were getting along or not.

Erchirion came to take seat next to him, interrupting his worrying. Éomer was not quite surprised. He expected all three of Imrahil's sons would eventually give him a piece of their minds.

"Elphir thinks you suit my sister well. I didn't expect he would change his mind so soon, but on the other hand, he has always taken his cues from her. Do you think it strange? Some might wonder at the way a powerful lord's eldest son and heir pays so much heed to a sister over ten years his junior", Erchirion said quietly. Others paid no heed to the two of them, but carried on their own light conversation.

"Some might, but I don't. You don't need to justify anything to me; I know one does well to listen to her wisdom and insight. If Elphir does so too, good for him", said Éomer calmly.

Erchirion regarded him for a long moment, as though to gauge his measure.

"Well, I know you speak as you think, truly and sincerely. Few men would say such things. But I hope you shall remember this sentiment in times to come. Do not give my sister a reason to regret her choice, or it is the House of Dol Amroth you will have to answer to", said Erchirion, his voice low and perfectly ominous.

"I shall keep that in mind", Éomer replied gravely, even if he was secretly entertained by this dance and routine Lothíriel's brothers were going through. When would Amrothos be making his case? All the same, he toasted his glass and Erchirion returned the gesture. Imrahil's second son seemed satisfied his mission was done.

Éowyn and Lothíriel rejoined them in the dining hall some half an hour later, their arrival timed smoothly with the luncheon. Éomer studied both their faces keenly, but even Éowyn, whose features were so open these days, revealed him nothing. He had to bite his tongue to keep from questioning them both then and there. His bride smiled, but the expression was best described as enigmatic.

"How did you find the garden, Lady Éowyn? I hope it lived up to the expectations", said Imrahil when they were seated around the dining table.

"It was lovely – a rare jewel in this city", said Éowyn. The smile reached her eyes, so she wasn't just being polite.

"I'm glad to hear you think so. It's rare indeed, but we all know of our king's intentions of changing that", Imrahil commented.

"The Lady Éowyn is kind. I'm not sure how anyone who lives in Ithilien would think this place anything special, but perhaps my bridegroom bullied her into saying whatever I want to hear", Lothíriel said and cast a teasing smile at Éomer.

"Me, bully Éowyn into doing anything? That trick hasn't worked since she was ten years old", he replied. The company laughed at his comment and he relaxed slightly. Joking was generally a good sign and he relaxed little bit.

"It usually doesn't with girl-siblings. At least it never did with me and Lothíriel. Elphir and Erchirion, on the other hand..." Amrothos put in and flashed a bright smile.

"Oh, is that what you call it? I suspect it won't shock anyone in this table, but every day it was a new horror with this one", said Erchirion emphatically and nodded his head at Amrothos. "But if he couldn't bully Lothíriel, it's mostly because she was his favourite."

"Nonsense. One can't bully her because she's always one step ahead of you", Amrothos snorted. Éomer could not say whether others noticed it, but he surely did: the two elder sons of Imrahil cast Amrothos a sharp, meaningful look. He caught it quickly, lowered his eyes and said nothing more in a rare moment of self-censure.

"All the same", said Éowyn serenely, "It's generally a sign of wisdom in a brother who gives in to his sister."

"For some, it may be the only such sign", Erchirion put in, which earned him a glare from Amrothos.

"Forgive my children their, hmm, lack of manners. I'm afraid it just means all of you have been accepted into the family", Imrahil said and lifted his glass towards the two Rohirrim. He smiled like a man who has truly given up all attempts of discipline.

Éomer shared a look with his sister.

"I've seen worse", they said in the same voice, much to the amusement of the rest of the company.

Éowyn smiled sweetly and also lifted her glass to Lothíriel.

"Here's to women, defeating all odds and growing up fairly well in the middle of this mad menfolk", she announced.

Lothíriel returned the smile brightly.

"To growing up fairly well. I like that", she said, and lifted her glass as well.

"Are we allowed to join the toast?" asked Faramir mildly, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"You should, unless you want us to think less of you", Lothíriel replied.

With that, not a single glass was left on the table.

* * *

"So, how did you like her?"

Éomer made his question as soon as the gate of Imrahil's town-house was left behind. Faramir had not joined them; he had said he needed to take care of some business with his uncle, but whether the need was real or he had just wanted to give the two siblings a chance to speak alone, Éomer had not bothered to find out. He could not hold back his curiosity any longer – he needed to know what Éowyn thought. At least, to him the luncheon had looked like a success. The company had been friendly and cheerful, no cross word had been uttered, and if Éowyn truly disliked Lothíriel, she would not have hidden it.

His sister's answer was slow in coming. A bad sign, if he ever saw one.

"She's... odd", she said eventually.

His heart sank. _Not again._

"Odd how? Is that a bad thing?" he asked warily.

"No, no, it's not like that. I don't mean to say I disliked her. She's friendly and courteous, and she obviously tries very hard, but she also says things she can't possibly know", Éowyn explained.

"Like what?"

"Like... well, she told me my home is very beautiful, but I know for fact she has never visited it."

"Maybe she just meant Ithilien in general. She may have travelled there before", Éomer said defensively. Was that an excuse? He wasn't sure. And yet... he had wanted his sister to like his bride so badly. What did Éowyn see – what did Éothain see – that he didn't?

"Maybe", Éowyn conceded. She looked up at him in concern, and touched his arm. "Please don't be too disappointed. I know you want us to get along. But remember, you've got a head-start on me and you have had time to get used to her. I'm sure I will feel the same once we know each other a bit better."

"So you didn't dislike her? Truly?" he asked quietly.

"Of course not. Like I said, it's not always bad. Aragorn surely is odd, and Gimli is odd, and Treebeard is odd – even I am odd, if you ask the right person. It's all a matter of perspective, brother mine", she told him in firm tones, as though lecturing a silly child.

Éomer let out a sigh and he looked ahead.

"I know I can't tell you how to feel", he said slowly, "but please, give her a chance. For my sake. I'm going to have to give my life to Rohan, and at least in this one thing, I would like to do as I wish."

"I know that, brother. And I do want you to be happy – more than you know. Give it some time, will you? We can't all fall head over heels in love with her. It would be very inconvenient, considering she's already spoken for", Éowyn said, trying for a lighter tone. He did smile in answer, but his uneasiness didn't fully subside.

This feeling remained with him most of the rest of the day. In a meeting with Aragorn he was at least able to ignore it, but at dinner his thought constantly threatened to wander. It was no mood for a bridegroom, recently betrothed to a beloved maiden. Arwen and Aragorn noticed of course, but discreetly kept their silence, and made no comments when he excused himself to retire early.

But Éomer did not go to his rooms. Sleep would not come easily tonight and so he did the only thing he could think of: he went out for a ride.

Many thoughts passed through his mind as he and a few guards flew over the wide fields of Pelennor. The sun was setting, bathing the whole landscape in red and gold. The city itself was almost luminous in this light, like a pale jewel in the lap of mountains. The air of summer's evening was mellow and fragrant; on a night like this, one should feel glad and light.

He paid only a passing notice to the beauty of summer evening. In his mind, he was going over his own memories of Lothíriel, and then Éothain and Éowyn's words. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't noticed his bride was unusual, but he had been charmed by her singular personality from the start. If she said strange things to him, he might have felt occasional surprise. But more than that, he had felt endeared. He liked that she spoke her mind honestly, never minding what people thought of it. He had to admit, being surprised was not disagreeable, either. And she was so sweet with him. After so many years of strife and war, she was a fresh breath of air. Perhaps it all went back to the night in the Houses of Healing. How could he ever explain to anyone what it had meant to him, that simple moment of friendship and comfort shared between strangers? Her kindness had carried him through what was probably the darkest night of his adult life.

He knew her in a way his captain and sister did not. They only needed a chance to get to know her, and they would see that what discerning had become ruthless in Denethor, took the form of kindness in Lothíriel.

Éomer felt a little less troubled by the time he got back to the Citadel. By that time, the moon had already risen and the city had quieted down. Lamps glowed in windows and torches lit the way to the seventh level of the city; here and there, voices and sounds of music streamed from courtyards. Mundburg was at peace and rest.

He walked slowly back to the Citadel, passing by the guards at the entrance. The Court of Fountain was well-lit and the White Tree, its boughs heavy with budding flowers, basked in a soft glow. This mighty seat was like a beacon in the night, though Éomer wondered how Arwen felt about it – being in origin of Elven-kind, she might have preferred starlight to lamps and torches.

This idle line of thought was forgotten when he spotted the figure sitting on a bench near the White Tree. At this point, he was not even surprised to see Lothíriel waiting for him.

He made his way towards her – quietly, he assumed at first, but she lifted her eyes long before he reached her. _Damn it_. One day he would take her by surprise, one way or the other.

"Good evening, dear heart. Sneaking about, again?" he greeted her softly.

She smiled slightly.

"It's what I do, isn't it?" she asked and rose on her feet. "I wanted to catch you alone."

"Well, here I am. Why didn't you send a word? I might have spared you the wait", he said as he took her hand and sat down next to her. His guards kept their distance to the betrothed couple.

She shook her head.

"I needed some time alone. As did you, I think", she said and cast him one of those knowing looks of hers.

"Is something the matter?" he asked her and tried not to think of his sister.

However, of course that was the exact thing Lothíriel said next.

"I was wondering... I know I shouldn't ask – it's between you and Lady Éowyn. But still, do you think she liked me?" she wanted to know, speaking with an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

He frowned and tried to decide what to say, though she probably read him well enough already from his silence. Surely, he wanted to tell her that Éowyn was just as delighted with her as he was. However, Lothíriel saw right through him and he couldn't lie to her even if he wanted to – even to spare her.

"She didn't dislike you. But I suppose it would take her some time to warm up to her dear only brother's bride, no matter who that woman was", he said at length. Her face fell and he hated himself for not being able to soften the blow more.

"I knew it. I could see it in her face even as we spoke, though she said nothing, and was very nice to me", she said quietly and let out a sigh.

"Don't be too dismayed. I guess it's just because you're so different from what Éowyn expected. She probably thought I was going to choose some noisy, foul-mouthed Shieldmaiden, or a fearsome matron-in-making to queen over Meduseld. She just needs to wrap her mind about it", he comforted her and pressed a small kiss on the back of her hand.

Her face remained unhappy.

"I wanted your friends and family to like me. I tried so hard to be friendly with Lady Éowyn, but I think she saw right through me. Perhaps I was foolish. I ought to know by now there's no place for me in their world", she said quietly, sounding so young and defeated that it made his heart ache. She wiped the corner of her eye and said, even more quiet now, "Maybe we should call it off. I don't want to be a burden for you."

"I will not allow it", he said swiftly, surprised to hear how hoarse his voice came out. "Where is that brave woman who did not let the armies of the Enemy drive her away from here? Who toiled in the darkest night this city has known, and had gentle words to give for all the weary and the wounded? And who spoke to me of sunlight even as I thought of bidding it farewell for ever?"

He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge that lump which had somehow grown there. Ever so gently, he collected her hands in his own. The pearls glittered softly on her wrist, reminding him even now of their sweet hours together in Dol Amroth.

"Lothíriel, you could never be a burden for me. You have a place in my world, at the very centre of it. For there is nobody like you in all the free lands. And if I let you go now, let you be intimidated by people who don't see you as clearly as I do, I shall regret it until the day I die. I may not know much, but this I do believe with all my heart, because – because it's already yours", he told her, almost stern in his tone.

Lothíriel sniffled loudly, and then she lifted his hands, and kissed them both. He could feel her fingers trembling inside his own. She was still teary-eyed when she looked at him again, but she was smiling.

"You are the dearest thing, and your heart – that is a mighty gift indeed", she said softly, and then leaned close to kiss him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed back in earnest, never mind the fact they were sitting in some of the most public places in all of Gondor.

Her eyes were calm again when she pulled back after a while. Éomer gave her a big, charming smile.

"Now, are we quite over that bit of nonsense? No more talk of calling things off?" he asked her gently.

"If you insist, my lord", she replied, smiling back at him. "Forgive me. I don't know what overcame me."

"Well, Éowyn can be formidable. Sometimes I think she might as well as have been born a dragon", he told his bride. She laughed.

"What things you say", Lothíriel murmured and kissed him once more. This time, she did not allow it to go on for very long. Éomer groaned in frustration against her lips when she began to pull back.

"No more of that, Sire", she said warmly and squeezed his hand. "It is late and I should get going. Not to mention, I'm not sure the Tree approves."

Éomer glanced at the sapling. Indeed, they were probably breaking some unwritten rule by snogging right next to the high and noble symbol of the House of Elendil. But he had not yet had a chance to kiss her properly, and so he stole another before she could get up.

"The Tree is a prude?" he asked her. She slapped his arm gently.

"You ask him", Lothíriel said and kissed the top of his head. "Good night, then. Thank you for being so sweet and patient."

"My pleasure", he said and looked at her in relief and renewed joy. "Sweet dreams, dear heart."

She smiled, and turned, and lightly made her way back towards the sixth level. Éomer watched her go and quietly swore that no matter what happened, he would stand by her side.

* * *

The next day greeted Éomer with an invitation from Amrothos to join him for a sparring session. The young king guessed it was partly due to his friend's ongoing attempt to best him in swordplay, partly some kind of a gesture concerning Lothíriel. Most like, Amrothos was planning to tell him _"be good to her or else"_ – a message delivered at sword point. He had almost done a similar thing with Faramir, but Éowyn had made it clear she would not tolerate it. In hindsight, Éomer decided she was probably right.

But that was only as far as his sister and her husband went. Amrothos... Amrothos was a different matter. As such, though it meant time spent away from his bride, Éomer accepted the invitation and made his way to city's barracks. It was much better supplied for training than Imrahil's own house.

The sun was already high as they met in the training ring. Amrothos was waiting for him there. Imrahil's son grinned fiercely at Éomer and wasted no time in tossing him a practice sword.

"Are you that eager to take a beating?" Éomer asked in a friendly taunt.

"We'll see who gets a beating", Amrothos shot back, testing his blade with a flourish. The Rohir did not say it out loud, but he suspected his friend would fare better against him if he just discarded some of his fancier moves.

All the same, sparring was generally rather entertaining with Amrothos, and so it was this time. Jovial insults were an essential part of it, which flew back and forth almost at the same rate as the blades. But at times, both were furiously concentrated in the swordplay itself, and then the only sound in the ring was the clash of metal.

After another fierce bout, Amrothos lowered his blade as a sign to halt the sparring. He retrieved a pair of water-skins he had brought along. Éomer accepted one of them gratefully; swordplay was sweaty work.

"You've been training much lately", he observed when he had taken a couple of long swigs from his water-skin.

"Indeed I have. Strange for peace-time, perhaps, but I was feeling like I had let myself go after the war ended. Aragorn says there are signs that the Southrons are regrouping. It might not be anything serious, but he thinks there are some factions that did not take the defeat very well", said Amrothos, sounding rather business-like. It was easy to forget he did have a few serious bones in his body.

"Aye, he's been telling me the same. Well, let them come. Rohirrim have recovered enough to send them back again the way they came", said Éomer. Something fierce stirred in his bones. There it was, the old battle-lust he knew so well. And truth was, he would greatly enjoy a good, hard skirmish. But he also knew it should trouble him much more than it did. A king should not be too eager for battle, even if he ruled over a people like Rohirrim. That much he had learned from Aragorn.

He shook himself and glanced at his friend. He asked, "What does your father think?"

"He's not glad. I think he's done with war. He probably even thought our stand before the Black Gate would be his last battle", Amrothos said.

Then Imrahil was quite his opposite, Éomer thought, to be eager to leave war utterly behind. And still they were friends and allies, and Imrahil was giving him as wife the only daughter of his line.

"That is unfortunate. There are few commanders like Imrahil, and Aragorn is still new to his throne. He needs men like your father behind his back, either on the field or in his council", he noted.

"Quite right and Father knows it. He won't be happy, but he won't abandon his post. Elphir is shaping up nicely but he's not ready to take our father's place yet – if anyone ever can be", Amrothos conceded. He directed a sharp look at the young king, and said, "I expect you won't wish for a war so near to your wedding."

That would be unfortunate, indeed. And he did want _her_ more than he wanted battle. It was... not surprising, perhaps, but it revealed some change that had crept on him during this past year.

"I can't say that I do. Not only because having her finally in Meduseld will be all the excitement I need, but I also want to be close while she learns her way – help her any way I can", said Éomer.

The face of his friend grew solemn.

"I'm glad you take it seriously. But still... be good to her, Éomer. She's taking an enormous leap of faith here, and if you disappoint her and break her heart, neither diplomacy or friendship shall stop me and my brothers from hunting you down", Amrothos told him sternly. Éomer almost smiled. He could well recognise a brother's sense of duty towards his sister, but he was also secretly entertained by the usually flighty young lord's gravity in this matter.

Lothíriel might go her own separate way, but her brothers loved her nonetheless and were ready to fight for her happiness with tooth and nail.

"I have no intention to be otherwise, Amrothos. All I want for your sister is happiness, and I shall do my best to secure it", he promised, bowing his head in deference.

Amrothos nodded emphatically and put aside the water-skin. He half raised his sword.

"Shall we go again?" he simply asked.

"Of course. I wouldn't deny you another chance of making a fool of yourself", said Éomer lightly. His friend made a face and growled. With that, they returned to their sparring. Amrothos was trying even harder now, and Éomer too had to use nearly the full breadth of his skills to keep his opponent at bay. He retained the upper hand, though they were both sweating hard when they ended the sequence.

"How do you do it? Where did you learn to handle the sword like that?" Amrothos panted, wiping sweat from his brow.

Éomer shrugged, and then rolled his shoulders. He rather enjoyed the feeling of exertion in his muscles, and the loose, warm sensation of a drill well done. Would that Amrothos could travel to Rohan and act as his constant sparring partner!

"Théoden himself taught me. He was a brilliant swordsman – one of the best I've ever seen. What strength he lost with age, he made up with cunning. If I have any skill, it's because I was hard pressed to keep up with him", he replied and pulled off his shirt, which was damp with sweat. Here in south, lords might let masters at arms to teach their sons to do swordplay, but not so in the Mark. Princes of Eorlingas learned warfare at their fathers' knees, and in a way, it made Théoden more his father than Éomund had been. It was a strange thought.

But then, as Leofrun had said: _Théoden did not raise just one mighty son, but two. _

Amrothos spoke then, interrupting his line of thought.

"I can well believe it. They still tell stories and make songs of how he slew the Black Serpent in the field", he replied and picked up his water-skin. He splashed some water over his sweaty hair, which example Éomer followed as well. Cool water washed off the worst of dust and perspiration. He almost felt ready for yet another session.

The young king put down his water-skin and gave his training sword to Amrothos. His friend sauntered over to return them to the armoury. But when he turned around to pick up his shirt, he saw it was being offered to him already. There behind himself stood Lothíriel, shirt in her hand, watching him intently. Now where had she appeared, and how had she sneaked up on him so quietly? Well, at least it was her, and not some sinister character. Either way, he had expected himself to be a little more aware of his surroundings, as a warrior should be.

"I never thought much of swordplay", she said quietly, "but you make it look quite marvellous."

"I'm glad you think so", he said, feeling a little smug in spite of himself. It was delightful to be able to impress her.

But then he took notice of the way she regarded him, the slow movement of her eyes over his exposed skin. Her gaze was bold and fascinated. A different heat, the kind that had nothing to do with the effort of training, made him feel short of breath.

"I do apologise for not being decent. It was sweaty work, and I was not aware we had audience", he said, just barely remembering his manners. He knew he should be dressing post haste, but all he could do watch her as she studied him with keen interest. What did she make of what she saw? He knew he did not have the slender grace of the men of Dúnedain; rather, he had the sturdy constitution and brutish strength of Northmen. Some women might enjoy that sort of thing, but at the moment he felt like some big, clumsy, lumbering oaf. At least, her features betrayed no distaste.

"It's all right. Like you said, you were unaware", she said and met his eyes. With a small, sly smile, she added, "Though I'm sure it's unfair I'm the only one getting previews before our wedding night."

_Definitely not distaste._

Éomer swallowed hard. He closed his eyes briefly, prayed for self-control and strength, and then quickly pulled his shirt back on. Did his bride even know she was playing with fire?

"Unfair, but perhaps wise", he stated with some difficulty.

"Sister! What are you doing here?"

Amrothos was approaching them, having returned the training swords. Judging by his look, he had not spied the exchange – which was probably for the better in the light of his recent words.

"I was looking for Éomer. I wondered if he might want to join me for a ride", she said, perfectly innocent.

"It would be my pleasure. For the Pelennor fields?" asked the young king. At once, a shadow passed across her features.

"No, not the Pelennor. The memory of battle is still too close there for a happy outing. I was thinking the woods north of the fields", she said quickly.

"Not alone, I hope?" Amrothos asked and gave his sister a keen stare.

"I could ask Éowyn and Faramir to come along", Éomer offered. Perhaps exposure to his bride would help Éowyn to overcome her doubts. Lothíriel's expression did not change; if she was troubled by the idea of his sister's presence, she did not show it.

"All right. In that case, I shan't lock you up and chase Éomer off with a sword", said Amrothos.

"Chase him off like you just tried so hard to do?" Lothíriel asked sweetly. Amrothos shot her a glare.

"Well, locking you up is still an option", he threatened her, but judging by the way her eyes glittered, she was not overly concerned.

"I will go and change. Shall we meet at the stables in an hour?" Éomer asked. Hopefully, it was enough time to get a grip of himself, though he wasn't sure he was soon going to forget the way she had looked at him only moments before.

"We shall!" said Lothíriel, tiptoed to kiss his cheek, and then went her way.

Éomer looked after her and let out a wistful little sigh. He might have fallen deeper into his reverie, hadn't Amrothos punched his shoulder.

"It's disgusting how smitten you are", he commented.

"Maybe", said the young king, "but I can still beat you up whenever I feel like it."

Amrothos was still muttering under his breath when Éomer took his leave.

* * *

The company rode swiftly over the fields and northwards to the woods of Anórien. Éowyn and Faramir had both come along as chaperones, and Éomer's own guards escorted them. The young king and his bride rode up at the front. After a playful race, they slowed their steeds to a gentler speed. Once they had passed the fields of Pelennor, Lothíriel looked to be more at ease; she was laughing with him, and she held herself lightly in the saddle. Éomer made no secret of the admiring looks he gave to her.

They left the horses near to the edge of the forest and went to explore on foot. The woods were sunny and fair in the high summer's glory, full of green things and birdsong. Lothíriel was eager to pull him after herself, pointing and showing him things as though an excited child. It was most endearing. In her light conversation, he was quick to forget the chaperones and guards who followed them at a distance.

Soon enough, his bride let out an anxious little sigh.

"I'm almost starting to regret not bringing a basket with me. These woods are rich with herbs and plants, and some of them are not found in Dol Amroth", she said to him and cast a long, thoughtful look at the undergrowth. No doubt, she was going to come here again before going home again.

But Éomer did not ponder her words for long. He lifted up the hems and corners of his cloak, gathering them in his hands, and thus forming a crude sort of bag.

"Here's your basket, lady", he told her with a winning smile, which she returned brightly.

"Thank you kindly, lord!" she said and quickly kissed his cheek.

"When Gondor calls for aid, Rohan will answer", he said, pleased to see the way her eyes shined.

It was probably quite the sight, her talking about the herbs and occasionally picking something up, and him following her with his cloak in his hands, receiving and guarding whatever she collected. Some task for a formidable warrior king. But he enjoyed it wholeheartedly, being so different from the everyday concerns of ruling. And Lothíriel shared her knowledge with the enthusiasm of one who loves their work, talking to him about herb-lore as though a storyteller recalling great legends of yore. He had never guessed plants had so many uses, from healing wounds to treating all kinds of everyday ailments, and even evoking one's carnal desires. That one he did not think was going to be needed in their marriage, which thought rather distracted him for a moment. But Lothíriel carried on, unaware of what was going through his mind.

"Look here! I never guessed wood sorrel was growing here so abundantly. Once when I was a child, I ate so much of them in the woods that I got sick. But it's quite safe to eat in small amounts. Some wood-faring folk chew on it to ward off thirst", she was saying as she crouched near the ground. Then she lifted a few small specimen, plants with light green, heart-shaped leaves slightly folded at the centre. She offered a few leaves to him, but seeing his hands were full with the cloak, she lifted it to his mouth.

He accepted her offering, pressing his lips briefly against her fingers, but he did not break eye contact with her. Faint colour appeared on her cheeks and she averted her gaze. He barely noticed the sour, crisp taste of frail leaves in his mouth.

"You shouldn't look at me like that, Sire. It makes me want to disrespect my father", she said softly, eyes fixed on the ground. He had noticed she did it sometimes, when he acted too boldly – she would not call him by his name, but rather use the title, as though it offered some distance.

"You are my bride, and you are fair. To ask me not to look at you is the same asking me not to breathe", he told her seriously.

"And then you say such things", she uttered, seeming to shake herself.

He smiled, even though his heart was not yet slowing down, nor the hot coal of desire cooling off.

"You're the one who agreed to marry me. What did you expect from a northern wildman?" he inquired pleasantly.

She cast a look at him, half exasperated and half amused. It was such a warm, intimate moment between them, full of quiet but shared knowledge. Had he known this woman for a lifetime, or only a few months? Former seemed to be the case, for never had it been so easy to let down his guard, look inside himself and find there something soft and light-hearted. If nothing else had convinced him, this at least was a sure sign they were well matched.

"Wildman you may be, but you provide excellent services as far as herb-gathering goes", she said at length. Éomer laughed and kissed the top of her head.

Some time later, they joined Faramir and Éowyn under the shade of a great elm tree. Éowyn had brought things for a light repast – white wine, buttered scones, hard cheese and dried fruit – which they enjoyed there on a spread blanket. His sister and brother-in-law conversed lightly, but Lothíriel was more quiet than usual. He guessed it was because she was recalling her and Éowyn's introduction and felt wary. In a quiet gesture of support he moved to sit close to her, so that his arm occasionally brushed hers – as though to shield her with his own body. Soon enough she put her hand on his on the blanket, lacing her fingers with his. Faramir's eyes caught his, and the Steward smiled, though he said nothing.

The sun was already westering when they decided to head back to the city. Worriedly, Lothíriel looked at Éomer's cloak which lay nearby, herbs and plants still inside of it. He saw the question in her eyes, and with a quiet smile, he bundled it carefully as to not crush the fragile things inside.

"Not to worry. Your bounty shall not go to waste", he promised her as he set the package atop his saddle. It was probably a breach of etiquette for a foreign monarch to be riding in shirtsleeves, but he supposed a barbarian king could afford such scandalous conduct.

"You are Valar-sent, Sire", said Lothíriel, smiling widely. When he helped her to mount her mare, her hands were soft and gentle against his shoulders, and her kiss sweet on his brow. No woman had ever looked at him with such warmth as she did right then.

"I aim to please", he said lightly, fully aware that they were rather ignoring Éowyn and Faramir, but thankfully their chaperones did not seem to mind.

In a swift motion, Éomer swung himself in the saddle. He tilted his face upwards and breathed deeply as he adjusted into the familiar seat, feeling Firefoot's rippling strength underneath, and that fierce sensation of being capable of great and terrible things. He turned to smile at his bride, and saw her watching him with wide eyes.

"This is how I first saw you", she said suddenly, but she didn't speak in the Common Tongue. With his rudimentary Sindarin he understood her. He had a faint grasp on that ancient tongue thanks to his late mother, who had been the daughter of Morwen Steelsheen of the kin of Westernesse.

"What do you mean?" asked Éomer, raising an eyebrow. As far as he knew, they had first met in the Houses of Healing after the Battle of Pelennor fields, in circumstances vastly different from this.

Lothíriel seemed to shake herself, like one attempting to snap out of a waking dream.

"I... I meant..." she stammered, confused and dismayed, but it was then Faramir and Éowyn steered their own steeds to their sides.

"Shall we get going?" asked the Steward. It was most inconvenient. Éomer cast a curious, frustrated look at his bride, but she was already facing the other way. There was no easy way of asking what she had tried to say with her strange words, and he got the feeling she would not respond well to being pressured in the presence of her cousin and Éowyn – especially when some scruples remained between the two women.

They rode back to the city, the pace of their horses faster than when they had first set out. It wouldn't do to keep Lothíriel out until after sunset, and Aragorn and Arwen were expecting to dine with the King of Rohan and his sister.

His bride was quiet and lost in thought most of the way back to the sixth level of the city, though she answered his questions and gave an occasional smile.

At the gates of her father's town house, Éomer dismounted again to help her down. For the briefest moment, she pressed herself against him, and he would have enveloped her in his arms hadn't she pulled away quickly.

"I had a lovely time today. Thank you for coming with me", she said, once again smiling with more surety; whatever had troubled her mind seemed to have passed.

"And thank you for asking me. It was a pleasure", said the young king. He reached back to his saddle and lifted up his bundled cloak. "Here you go. I suppose at this point I can well trust my cloak with you?"

She let out a soft laugh as she received the wrapped up thing.

"You may indeed. I shall have it cleaned and returned to you – unless you wouldn't mind parting with it?" she asked, eyes glimmering.

"I wouldn't, but it's the only one I've got with me, and I just know it will rain wargs on my way back to Rohan if I don't have a cloak", he told her.

"We can't have that. But if you ever feel like spoiling your bride a little bit, you might send me some wool from your land. I've never seen its like", she said, running her fingers across the surface of his cloak. Momentarily, he imagined her wrapped in that cloak – in nothing but that cloak – and felt a bit dizzy.

"I shall keep that in mind", he said, quietly and hoarsely, and bowed his head for a moment. "Until tomorrow, then?"

"Until tomorrow", she agreed and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. With a smile, she turned away and lead her mare through the open gates of Imrahil's house. Éomer watched her go and wondered at how very much he already loved her.

"Brother? Are you quite awake?" Éowyn's voice asked, warm and amused. He shook himself and glanced at his sister, who was smiling as though she knew something he didn't.

"Of course I am", he said blandly and jumped back in the saddle.

"You know", she said when they continued their way to the Citadel, "I'm starting to think I didn't get the whole picture until now."

"And what picture is that?" he asked her.

"I was watching you and her back there in the wood. There went my fierce, warlike brother, gathering plants for a lady! And yet I can't remember when I've last seen you looking so happy, or so peaceful", said Éowyn softly, so that only he could hear her voice. "So maybe I wasn't giving her all the credit she deserves. She may be strange, but nobody who sees you with her like that can say it makes no sense."

Éomer felt like some tension he had not noticed holding in himself vanished with her words. He smiled at his sister, relieved that she did approve of his choice after all.

"I'm glad you think so. She will be, too. Lothíriel would dearly wish for you to befriend her", he said.

"And I'm sure I will. But you must give me some time. I never thought anyone would be worthy of you", Éowyn stated firmly.

He scoffed.

"Worthy? I don't know about that. But you are my sister, so your partiality may be forgiven. Though I'm sure I was not quite as hard on Faramir", he pointed out. They had now reached the royal stables and were dismounting; stable-hands came to take their horses and a few of Éomer's guards stayed behind to supervise.

Éowyn's eyes glittered in amusement.

"But you knew you would never have peace in Meduseld again if you tried to prevent us, so it's not really the same thing, is it?" she inquired sweetly.

"No man wants to be held hostage in his own home, and I am no exception in that regard", he told her. Éowyn laughed, and with that, they made their way in to the Citadel of the White City.

_To be continued._

* * *

**A/N: **I return with an update! This one took some time, because I moved recently, so you can imagine things were a bit too crazy for writing. I'm starting to get all settled down now, though, and once my new bookshelf arrives, it should be all right!

It was fun writing this one, move or no. Her brothers' confrontations with Éomer were definitely an interesting thing to tackle. Also, I have really enjoyed developing Éomer and Lothíriel's relationship, and it's definitely getting more sensual at this point. I rather imagine the rating of this story will eventually change, too.

There's no reason why the White Tree of Gondor should be "male"; I merely chose to refer to the Tree as "he" because so was Telperion of the Two Trees of Valinor, and ultimately, the Tree that grew in the Court of Fountain was descended from the image of Telperion. I suppose it could also be a she, considering the White Tree which grew in Númenor was named Nimloth, and that was a feminine name shared by an Elf-lady of First Age. Alas, I suppose this is a question of obscure lore, and of interest only to people who have a close knowledge of the legendarium.

Wood sorrel (or oxalis) is a small woodland plant that grows around the world, except for polar areas. Its taste is slightly sour but personally I've found the taste rather pleasant. I also found some a tidbit of info that Native American peoples have used to ward off thirst, which I thought was interesting and added in the story as well. It has also had medicinal uses, but can make you sick if you eat too much of it.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Don't forget, your comments are most appreciated and helpful!

* * *

**EStrunk - **I'm glad you liked it! I too enjoyed that part with the two of them very much. :) And to hear the lovebird's talk was so Tolkien-esque was a lovely thing to hear. I do like this version of her very much, rather for the same reasons as you. One moment, she's in her own world, and next she's warm and forthcoming.

**sai19 **\- I know! This story has a mind of its own. I hope it provided a nice moment of relaxation - writing academic works can be exhausting indeed!

And I'm glad to hear you like her so well! Éowyn has her doubts, but maybe at the end of this chapter she too is reconsidering her stance.

**LH Wordsmith - **I don't pretend I can bring Middle-earth alive the way Tolkien himself did, but I myself am a big fan of his works, and I love to weave in aspects and details of the legendarium. If it succeeds in making my story more alive, then great!

I hope this chapter sheds more light on brotherly affairs!

**Jo - **Yes, it can be very exhausting to listen to that kind of nonsense. Hang on in there!

**rossui - **Glad you liked it! We'll see how it will go with them. ;)

**Katia0203 - **Interesting points! I don't want to comment on them too much, because I don't want to spoil anything for you. At the very least, a part of Éomer's reluctance to hear differing opinions about Lothíriel might be his different and more intimate history with her than others have. Seeing this story is told from his point of view, it can be difficult to convey others' perspectives as well.

**blasttyrant - **He has a point, but he may not be seeing Éomer's perspective entirely!

I'm afraid I can't tell my "big secret", because I don't want to spoil the story! :D

You stay safe, too!

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Thanks! Glad you liked it!

**Leilal - **Thank you!

**Wondereye - **I'm afraid the story will have to answer that question!

**Catspector - **It's been wonderful writing this happy, hopeful Éomer! And Leofrun certainly loves to see him like that, too. As for Lothíriel, the story will have to reveal her secrets!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Éothain came to him in the morning to go through the day's agenda as Éomer prepared. It was his unfortunate job while they were away from the Mark; such things had not come easily to Éothain when he became the King's Captain. But the man was managing – they both were, and making do with what fates had thrust their way.

It would be a busy day, for Midsummer's Day was upon them, and it would see many celebrations in the city. Much of Éothain's words threatened to fall on deaf ears, as thoughts of certain Amrothian lady tempted the young king, but he did his best to actually pay attention. However, Éothain read him like an open book.

A faint smile appeared on the Captain's good-natured features.

"Just to check – have you been listening to me at all, or just thinking of your bride?" he inquired mildly.

"Both. I was doing both", Éomer admitted with a lopsided smile. "So I may need a cue today every now and then."

Éothain snorted softly.

"I shall stay close, then", he said wryly, though his eyes glittered in amusement. It was the best thing about him: unlike some of the royal advisers, Éothain didn't despair of him entirely if he were being distracted or thick-headed, but rather did his best to help him – or to give him a good kick.

The Captain's face then grew more serious, and he said, "You really do feel for that girl, don't you?"

"Did you ever doubt it?" Éomer asked back.

"Not particularly. Yesterday, you could barely take your eyes off of her, and the way you followed her around as she collected herbs…" said the Captain with a small, disbelieving shake of his head.

"Was it very unseemly of me?" asked the young king as he donned on his tunic. He still went without the undershirt, as the days were warmer than ever.

"No. Not for the way I saw you smile. She is your bride, and if she is such a woman that she can remind you of sweet and soft things in the middle of all your duties and troubles, then that is good. The lads and I were surprised, but not in a bad way. It's just we've not seen you act that way before. Yet your happiness means a great deal to us. We would see you enjoying the fruits of peace as the rest of us do", said Éothain emphatically.

Éomer directed a keen, long look at his friend.

"Then you don't think she's too strange, or too wilful?" he wanted to know.

The Captain winced.

"That still bothers you? There are other virtues, my friend, and perhaps I was wrong to expect you would ever seek a demure wife who doesn't burn singular among the maidens of North and South", he said carefully.

"But you _are _my friend, and though the choice is mine, I do not deny your approval would be welcome. That you and her might be friends as well", Éomer said, hoping he did not sound too desperate in his wish.

"And we will be, in time. You are too impatient, my king, though so it always was in matters near to your heart. So I don't blame you", Éothain replied.

The young king cast his friend a wry smile.

"That is most kind of you", he said and tied his belt around his waist. His hair was its usual wild mane, but he could not be bothered to do much about it, and Lothíriel seemed to like it either way. He almost chuckled out loud. She _was _a strange woman, indeed.

He cast a look at his captain.

"Shall we get going?" he asked.

"With pleasure. If you know where you're supposed to be going?" Éothain asked back with a bright smile.

"… no, but I'm sure you will remind me."

* * *

The morning of Midsummer's Day was as bright as it was fair. It was a day of celebration both in Rohan and Gondor – doubly so here in Mundburg, for year ago on this day King Elessar had wedded Queen Arwen. From the earliest hour of the day, Éomer felt like there was a sense of mirth and excitement in the air. The royal house had been decorated with flowers and garlands and bright banners, as would be the city's streets and homes. There was a massive fair that extended from the first level to the second level, filled with craftsmen, farmers selling their product, mummers and bards and poets from far and wide, and outside the city's walls commoners would gather for games and great bonfires. The King and Queen held their own feast in the Court of Fountain under the summer stars, hosting guests from prominent families of Mundburg, noble and common alike.

Éomer noted all of this was not so different from Rohan's own celebrations, though he expected in Edoras, there would be a lot more drinking, and dancing, and general madness – and many more children conceived. He almost wished he and Lothíriel could participate _that_ feast instead of the one in Mundburg. He reminded himself at this time next year, his wish would be granted.

After breakfast and some meetings at the Citadel, the company of two kings made their way to visit the fair. Aragorn and Arwen would meet with their people, and were eager that Éomer would come and join them. Lothíriel came along too, and she walked by his arm as was fitting for a king's bride, but he didn't expect they could truly enjoy the fair, or have a moment or two for themselves. At times, he wondered at her words yesterday: _This is how I first saw you._ She had never told him the meaning of her words, and he burned to question her. It would have to wait until they had a better chance to talk alone.

Still, at this stall or the next he offered to purchase her whatever trinket that seemed good and pleasing, but she refused his coaxing with a shake of her head and a gentle smile. Often his eyes remained on her, though the city around them had never been quite so full of colour and bustle and wonders.

Some of the city's people were indeed met, but as chief of them Éomer would recall a young girl; unafraid she came to the Queen of Gondor, and then the future Queen of Rohan, and gave them both some wild flowers she must have picked herself. Both women accepted the gift as graciously as suited their station and the girl beamed so that the smile seemed to split her small face. Éomer smiled too, recalling something Lothíriel had told him the other night. He had never pictured himself as a father to a small girl, but now he certainly did.

His bride turned towards him and tucked one blue flower behind his ear, grinning brightly.

He raised an eyebrow, though he made no move to remove the flower.

"Should I expect this on a constant basis once we are married?" he inquired.

Her answering smile was mischievous.

"Only if you think your reputation as a fierce warrior king can take it", she told him sweetly.

"If at this point I should expect to be shamed by some flowers, then I never was the man I thought myself", he stated and made sure the flower did not fall off. Seeing the smiles on the faces of his guards, he deemed they agreed with him. And most like, they were amused to see their stern, war-hardened leader melt before his future queen. Even Éothain had an expression like he might be reconsidering his earlier doubts. As for Aragorn and Arwen, both looked at him with beaming smiles.

"Betrothal suits you. Both of you", said Arwen, her eyes glittering warmly. Éomer did not even try to hide his grin.

"I rather agree", he said and kissed the top of Lothíriel's head. She pressed herself briefly against his arm. Her presence was warm and welcome, and outrageously intimate for circumstances so public. To himself, Éomer wondered if she thought of herself as his wife already – if in her eyes, her choice was more binding than ceremonies of men. It was an exciting thought, and well within possibility. But she had spoken of not wanting to disrespect her father; he would have to bear his impatience the best he could.

They returned to the Citadel for the luncheon – a crowded affair, as most were for the time being. Private conversations remained next to impossible, though his curiosity did not cease, and Lothíriel did not stray far from his side. He kept the flower behind his ear, and each curious gaze directed at it he met with a bright smile. Apparently, Éothain was highly entertained by the affair, judging by the way the corner of his mouth kept twitching.

The luncheon was nearly done when Lord Húrin of the Keys, one of the great lords of Gondor and member of Aragorn's council, asked Éomer for a word alone. The young king's suspicions rose at once when Húrin started by saying he was not attempting to supplant his choice of bride. In his own words he was just wondering about it, even if she was Imrahil's daughter.

"Her eyes are as keen as Lord Denethor's, perhaps even more so, and yet she speaks but little. Will you trust such a wife as your queen?" asked Lord Húrin in a low voice.

But Éomer did not answer directly, because what use would it be to tell him_ this_ was not at all how she was with him. He merely gave the man a stern look and stated his decision was final – and that to speak ill of her was not something he was going to tolerate. Lord Húrin apologised for his impudence, but Éomer could tell the man well saw his disappointment, and felt the same sense that the previously friendly relationship had taken some hit that might not soon recover.

He did not return straight to Lothíriel, but rather sought for Aragorn, and finding him with a few of his lieutenants, caught him by arm.

"A word, my brother?" he asked in a low voice. So they had called one another since the War had ended; brothers in arms and alliance.

"Of course", said Aragorn and smiled slightly. He nodded his head at his lieutenants and followed Éomer some ways from the crowded centre area of the Court.

"What is it? Is something the matter?" asked Aragorn as soon as they were outside earshot.

"I am not used to second-guessing my own decisions", said Éomer, perhaps more harshly than he had intended, "but it seems that others are eager to do it. Three people now have wondered at my choice of wife, and one of them is Gondorian. Éowyn and Éothain think she is strange and knows things she should not, and Húrin suggests she's unfit because she keeps her own counsel Tell me, Aragorn, have I truly chosen poorly?"

Aragorn reached to rest his hand on Éomer's shoulder. His look was kind and sympathetic.

"Why are you so worried by what others think? When did you ever let it dismay you?" he asked back gently.

"But shouldn't a king pay heed to others' advice? Especially when it comes from those whose opinions are valued?"

"Often it is indeed so. But in this case… brother, I think you may be one of the few who do_ see_ her clearly. As for me, I think she's like a young tree that has not yet blossomed or borne fruit. Her time will come, and I think you know this. You are a man of keen and true instinct, and there are not many among my allies who stand as your equal. Follow it, Éomer, and trust it like I do", Aragorn reassured him calmly. Then a strange little smile made its way to his features, and he continued in a lower voice, "Few approved of mine and Arwen's union, and yet here we are. It won't be easy, but believe me when I say it will be worth it."

His friend's words consoled him and took away the unpleasant after-taste left by the conversation with Lord Húrin. With an easier mind, Éomer returned to a canopied table where Lothíriel had her seat with Arwen.

She looked at him with troubled eyes, like she too had been privy to Lord Húrin's words and worried over their impact on her bridegroom. But Éomer cast her a smile and made his way to take seat next to her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked quietly.

He picked up her hand and pressed his lips against the back of it.

"Aye, dear heart. All is well."

* * *

When the last rays of the Sun had gone down, the great feast in the Citadel began. It was held under the summer stars as was the age-old custom – though rarely observed in the past few years, when the shadow of Mordor grew ever heavier. Now the Court of the Fountain was the fairest Éomer had yet seen it. Garlands and flowers filled the mellow air with sweet fragrances and many lamps glowed soft light into the fairest night of Summer. In the middle of it all, the White Tree stood, basking in the mingled light of stars and lamps. Down on the fields of Pelennor, many bonfires burned. He imagined if he should go nearer to the balustrade and listen hard, he might even hear the distant sounds of music and merriment. Somehow, he felt he was still much more fitting for that celebration than the one in the Citadel.

Even so, the atmosphere was lighter than before, which Éomer approved of, and perhaps tonight he would at last be able to speak to his bride alone. The sneaky little thing might even know of some nice, dark spot… it _was _Midsummer's Day, although he meant to have all the possible care. It might be acceptable in the Mark to engage in heady tumbles in the dark, soft air of high summer, but he wanted to give Imrahil no reason to regret his blessing.

Like most of the ladies, Lothíriel had gone to change for the night's feast, and she returned wearing her star-gown, the same one she had used on the night of their betrothal feast. It was a sight to behold: both her and the starlit sky glittering in unison. He ogled and did not care who saw the smitten look on his face.

She smiled back at him as she came to his side and put her hand on his arm.

"I was gone for only a couple of hours, and yet here you stand looking at me as though I've kept you waiting a year", she whispered. In her eyes there was a gentle light.

"Felt like it, at any rate", he uttered back and scanned the crowd around them with his eyes. As of yet, it did not seem like there was a good chance to slip away. They might have to make a few rounds among the other guests for some small talk, and then try to take their chance.

He glanced at her and asked, "Ready to entertain some more?"

She wrinkled her nose briefly.

"Very well. If you promise all our married life is not going to be like this."

"Certainly not. In Rohan, nobody will think twice about my snatching you away from a feast", he reassured her and squeezed her hand, which lay on his arm.

Lothíriel smiled.

"Do tell me, how frequent do you think the snatching shall be?" she asked mildly.

"So frequent that it will first become a joke, and then people will become sick of it", he promised her, offering her his most charming smile. She gave him that look of both amusement and exasperation which was becoming familiar to him at this point, and most dear.

"In that case, let us entertain", she said, stood a bit straighter, and took an expression that was fittingly remote and regal.

So they made their way through the crowd, speaking with this lord and that lady – mostly idle small talk that, as Éomer guessed, did not come so naturally either for him or his bride. Even so, she was quick to prove she was indeed Imrahil's daughter: she recalled all the names and family trees of the nobles they met, knew of their homes and lands, and inquired after the health of distant aunts with all the sweetness one could hope for. Briefly and spitefully, Éomer wondered what even was Lord Húrin's basis for doubting her.

They even spoke with Éowyn and Faramir, and this time, the interaction seemed to go perfectly well: the two women spoke of herb-lore, as much as Éomer was able to make out while he spoke to Faramir about Ithilien and how was the rebuilding of Emyn Arnen going so far.

But when Faramir excused himself and Éowyn for wanting to share some words with Elphir, Éomer deemed his chance had come; the guests had settled into a slow, comfortable hum around them, and most had enjoyed at least a couple of glasses of wine from southern vineyeards. He leant down to whisper to his bride, "Do you think we could sneak off for a bit?"

She cast him a mischievous smile.

"Why not? We don't get to be alone half as much as I'd like", she whispered back; he wasn't sure if it was her intention, but there were some very tempting and dangerous implications in her tone. He reminded himself it was not his intention at all, even if it were Midsummer's Day.

He cleared his throat, and said loudly to her, "Shall we take a stroll, my lady?"

"With pleasure, Sire. Perhaps to Merethrond? There are some banners I would like to show you", she replied with utmost propriety, and so they made their way to the Hall of Feasts. It did not seem like anyone paid them any attention.

No other guests were inside at the moment – the night under the stars was too fair not to be enjoyed. All the better. Lothíriel grasped his hand tightly and began to pull him after herself. She took them to a door Éomer had never noticed before, which lead to something that looked like the servants' corridor. Resolutely she lead the way through several more doors and twisting corridors, until abruptly they came again into the sweet night's air.

It looked like a small garden, away from the noise and formality of the Court of the Fountain, though the sounds of the celebration could be heard even here. The sheer wall of the city circled the garden on one side, and towers rose up high on the other. Bushes upon bushes of white roses were blooming around them, and the air was heavy with their scent. Where the bushes did not cover the ground, there was soft grass, freshly cut. It was a small spot of beauty and peace in this mighty city.

"What is this place?" asked Éomer as he looked around.

"It's the Queen's garden. Few outside the Citadel know of this place. No wonder – nobody has kept it since my aunt Finduilas died. But Queen Arwen has restored it", she explained. Seeing his expression, she smiled and added, "Not to worry. I have her permission to come here, and I would imagine it extends to you as well."

"Very well. I wouldn't wish to intrude on her hospitality", he said, relaxing again.

"She doesn't mind. I think she knew right away I wished for a place to escape the noise of the city", said Lothíriel and walked slowly to the wall. She gazed down over the city and to the mountains on their left. Slowly her features relaxed and her shoulders dropped into a less rigid pose. Being under constant observation was wearisome, indeed.

"Then it is good you will have a garden of your own at Meduseld", he said, coming to stand next to her, and anxiously trying to think of the most natural way of introducing the topic he had in mind.

"I'm delighted to hear it", she said and looked up at him with a slight smile. "Now, did you lure me out here to ravish me, or some other wildman business?"

"I won't deny it would greatly please me", he said, rougher than intended and trying not to think of the sheer audacity of tumbling with her in Queen Arwen's own garden, "but I did wish to talk to you alone. I had a feeling it would be easier for you in private."

Her smile faltered and she looked at him with suspicion.

"What is it, then?" she asked warily.

"What you said to me yesterday when we were about to return to the city… I was just mounting my horse when you said it was how you first saw me. I have wondered about it since then", Éomer began, slow and quiet, and keenly watching her reaction.

She looked away and lowered her hands on the wall, as though to grip it for support. She said nothing as she stared down into the city.

"Lothíriel… you have foresight, don't you?" he asked, at last forming the question that had long eluded him, and yet as he now looked back, he knew it had been staring at him in the face from the beginning. It was what had made Éowyn and Éothain so queasy, wasn't it? For foresight was not common among Rohirrim. He suspected few even among the Dúnedain saw as much and as clearly as her.

For the longest time, she did not speak or move. She stood there, staring down as though a silent statue carved in the days of old. But finally she let out a heavy sigh and her shoulders drooped.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly, still not facing him. It didn't sound like an honest question – she probably knew already what his answer would be. Yet some things must be said aloud no matter what.

"For a while, I did not. But people keep telling me you say things you can't possibly know, and so you did that very night we first met. There are not many like you among my people, and so I did not understand right away. Yet eventually, you told me so yourself", he replied seriously. He wondered if he should be more disturbed than this. Should a man be worried to marry a woman who knows his thoughts and sees his path better than he does himself? Perhaps he couldn't be dismayed because he already trusted her with these things, and knew they were safe in her keeping.

"Yes, I suppose I did", she sighed and shook her head. "I am always saying things. People don't like it. Foresight is not unheard of among my people, but others with this gift – or this curse – learn to conceal it. For me, there is no veil between what is and what may be. You don't know how hard it can be to remember others do not see the world like I do. Father thinks it may be because of our Elven blood… it made my sight different than it usually is for the Dúnedain. Yet at times I wonder if something went crooked with me."

"Lord Húrin told me you rarely speak. Is that what you do, when you try to hide it?" he asked.

"More or less, depending on the company. But neither option seems right. If I speak, then I am the strange woman who can't hold back her prophecies. If I'm silent, then I'm ill-bred and indiscreet", said Lothíriel with a surprising amount of bitterness in her voice.

He put his hand on her shoulder.

"For whatever it's worth, in my eyes you are neither", he said to her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked immensely troubled.

"I didn't tell you because… for a moment, it felt nice to simply be accepted as I am", she said slowly, not meeting his eyes. "And because for so long I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Éomer asked, frowning. "All I can see is your courage."

She looked at him with a joyless smile.

"Your confusion does your credit and I adore you for it. Yet for one like me there is plenty to be wary of. Once, years ago, I saw something… I knew then that if I married, I would be used for my sight in games of greed and power. I would be a slave to my husband's ambition, unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless he was the wise fool", she said, and Éomer looked at her in wonder. A wry smile appeared on her features, "It never made sense to me before… you may imagine my surprise when one night, a man came to my workshop, asked me to marry him, and called himself just that. And that is why accepted you. Otherwise, I would have refused you."

"I knew it", he breathed in astonishment. "I felt your reluctance – I was sure you were going to say no. So that's why you like to call me the wise fool?"

"Yes", Lothíriel replied. "Because for me, it's a hopeful thing… because as much as you shined and drew me in only seconds before you said those words, I didn't think I could have you."

"Well, you have me", he said to her and pulled her in his arms. His bride, the woman who saw things which had not yet passed – who had probably known him even before they had met. The thought was bewildering, and yet it made so much sense.

He pulled back slightly, regarding her features, "Your father knows – and your brothers too? That's why they thought you wouldn't accept me?"

"Of course they do. They are some of the few people who know, and don't care."

"And they also know about this – this wise fool thing?"

"Yes. They… can get protective sometimes. I know they hate the idea of some ambitious lord using me to gain power", Lothíriel said. She let out a small, teary laugh. "Although, after the war Amrothos once said you are the closest thing to 'the wise fool' he ever saw. In case you wonder, he's enjoying this very much – he even said maybe he has caught some of my sight."

Éomer snorted instantly.

"I doubt it", he said, which made her chuckle. Gently, he lifted her chin, and spoke in softer tones, "You didn't see anything about me, then? You didn't know you were going to marry me?"

He couldn't tell for sure in moonlight, but he thought some colour appeared on her features.

"I had some suspicions. I've seen you at times, and certainly in ways a woman only sees her husband. But not enough to be sure until you proposed. Never once did I dare to hope that there would indeed be a man outside my family I could trust with my sight. For a bit, on those nights we met in the garden, I even wondered if I would lose my mind and make some kind of an… an agreement with you", she admitted, and for some strange reason, he was pleased by this information. Yet he also shuddered at the idea of what pain it must have been to her, feeling the mutual attraction between them and thinking it could never become what she wanted.

"Béma, you weren't lying when you spoke of getting 'previews'", he muttered, feeling something hungry shift in the bottom of his stomach.

"I love the way you say that word, Béma..." she said and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing closer. And then he could no longer resist.

It was wild and rough at first, and there was something giddy and relieved in the way she responded his kisses. Until that moment, he thought later, he had not really understood what it meant to her that she was accepted by him – and not just accepted, but beloved whether she had this gift or not. Moved by this thought, he held and kissed her with greater tenderness, as though to reassure her just as by actions as by words that he was indeed her wise fool.

She melted against him. Had her lips ever been quite as soft, or as supple? In a way, it was as though she was only now daring to kiss him with her full potential. Her hands moved against him like she knew him indeed, and he was inches away from losing all control and touching her just as boldly. When she tentatively rubbed her hips against his, he felt like sheer sparks of fire were igniting across his skin and in his brain. Béma! He was _very _close to losing the wise and becoming a complete fool.

And then they were both gasping for air. Her fingers were tight at his hips, further suggesting the idea that she didn't think much on whether they were married or not. Éomer had to bite his lip and remind himself of three older brothers, ready to pounce at any sign of untoward behaviour. And yet the skin of her neck was so soft, and the way it trembled at his touch… he could see the silver pins in her tresses and thought of how easy it would be to let her hair down…

"We should probably get back", he stated hoarsely, though he did not let go of her.

"We should", she agreed, but the grip of her hands only became tighter. He stared at her, and she stared right back, until at last with great effort he withdrew his hands and stepped away. She made a small, displeased sound, but did not try to put her hands on him again, except to place her fingers on his arm.

"Did you truly see sunlight that night we first met?" he asked her in a low, hoarse voice.

She smiled.

"I did. You are going to be magnificent."

The thought made him tremble, and for a while, he could not speak another word.

They made their way back through the same corridors as earlier, but before they reached the crowd in the Court, she asked him in whisper, "Will you tell your advisers about me?"

"No, I think not. It is not their business what you see, and though I trust them, I would rather not tempt them with the idea of your sight at my disposal", Éomer replied, having regained his voice and his composure once more.

"But tell me honestly, aren't you at all intrigued to think what you could achieve with my sight to guide you?" she asked him gravely.

"Not really", he said evenly and glanced at her. "I did not particularly want to become the King of Rohan The lands between mountains and the Great River are fair and rich enough to sustain my people. I have as much power as I need, and earthly fortunes – well, the wealth of Rohan is its horses, and Firefoot already is a lord among them. A woman such as yourself can counsel me well enough even without foresight."

She was silent for a moment, looking ahead in thought.

"In that case, I shall try and learn to be less strange in the eyes of Rohirrim, and yet be glad to give you my aid whenever my sight permits it", she said at length, quiet and solemn, as though she had just made some tremendous choice.

Éomer let out a breath he had not noticed holding. It felt like in a single moment, his whole world had changed in some small but significant way. Just like that, she had promised him something she had never meant to admit to any man!

* * *

After the celebrations of Midsummer's Day were finished it was time for Éomer to return home. Taking leave of Lothíriel was no easier than it had been before, though she was calm and smiling as they said their goodbyes. In fact, to him she felt most like herself ever since they had met again on the shores of Dol Amroth, and he thought of how deeply affected she must have been these past few months, and how she had agonised over the secret between them. Éowyn was more agitated when she insisted Éomer to deliver a letter to Leofrun, and to report soon how the news of his betrothal were received in Rohan. Imrahil sent him on his way as one would send their son. It was a strange but not unpleasant feeling.

Before he left, an agreement was made they would meet again in Mundburg some time in the autumn, but the idea did little to appease to his anxiety; months ahead before spring would be painfully long.

On his way back to Edoras, Éomer thought much of what he had learned of his wife-to-be. There had not been many chances to talk about it, because they were constantly followed by chaperones, and he wasn't sure how much privacy she needed to comfortably speak of her unusual gift. Éomer was also doubtful of writing to her about the subject; he had a feeling these were conversations one ought to have face to face.

At first, he wondered that he had not realised the truth sooner. But then, as he had told her, such gift as hers was barely more than a tale among Rohirrim. No wonder both Éowyn and Éothain had thought her uncanny. And while Éomer himself had met others with the gift of foresight, none of them were like Lothíriel. She spoke freely and unexpectedly of what she saw, and he could understand why it would unsettle those who were not prepared for it.

As for her consent to marry him… it still made him dizzy to think that something Éothain had first said and he himself had quoted in a moment of desperation was in fact the crux of why she had agreed. When he started to consider the implications on fate and chance, he got even more light-headed. Either way, until the last she had meant to say no. He could only imagine the agony she had been through: he had not held himself back when going at her, and all she had wanted was to accept him, and yet every moment for her had been shadowed by the dread of her worst fear coming true. Now he surely understood the way she had acted the day he had gone to seek for her in the workshop, and why she had in quiet pain said she was scared of him.

What of Rohan, then? Doubtless many of Rohirrim would share Éowyn and Éothain's initial sentiment, but Lothíriel had insisted she would try and not give them a reason to think her strange. And hadn't his sister and captain both reconsidered their impressions after seeing the young king and his bride together? All in all, Éomer was at this time too glad and hopeful to worry too much over it. Even if she occasionally said unusual things, after the Ring War Rohirrim were much better acquainted with Elves and Halflings and many other things out of legend than before. Times were changing, and like Éothain himself had said, Imrahil's name would grant her leeway until she had established herself as the Queen of the Mark.

She had promised him sunlight and he had complete faith in her.

On his way home, Éomer decided to visit Healding for one night. It was still ways to go to Edoras, and the town was conveniently situated. Yet if he were completely honest, it was not just because of convenience. Lord Eadwig and his daughter Guthild had been some of the most eager when it came to a possible match, and he wanted to make it clear how things now stood.

Was it a foolish or a strange thing to do? Perhaps. But deep down, he felt like these two people had placed such hopes in him, and to keep them guessing would be wrong. A lord such as Eadwig, respected among his own folk and by other nobles of the land, was not someone Éomer wanted to offend.

So he arrived at Healding with his company after the long journey from Mundburg. His arrival had been spied before he reached the gates of the town, and in the courtyard of Eadwig's Hall stable-hands and servants were standing ready when the King's Guard came to halt.

Eadwig himself was not to be seen, but Guthild stood at the doorway of her home, and she was looking at the young king with shining, hopeful eyes. A regretful twinge went through him. He didn't look forward to disappointing this maiden.

"Éomer King! What brings you to our humble home?" asked Guthild eagerly once he was at speaking distance. He dismounted and surrendered Firefoot to a stable-hand standing by.

"We were on our way from Mundburg back to Edoras, and decided to pay a visit to you and your father. Is he at home?" he inquired, glancing around and half expecting to see the lord of Healding appear.

"He left earlier today for some business in our homesteads in northern parts, but he should be back tomorrow. Even so, I know he would insist on offering you our hospitality. Supper is soon ready, Sire, and it would be my honour if you and your Riders shared it with us tonight", Guthild replied, curtsying at him as delicately as any Gondorian lady.

"Thank you, Lady Guthild. It is most appreciated", said Éomer and suppressed a sigh.

He was given rooms, and water to wash, and not an hour later he was seated at Eadwig's table. Guthild had offered him her father's own seat, which Éomer accepted with growing resignation. At first, Guthild was offering to serve him herself, but he insisted on her taking a seat next to him and sharing the supper. What a perfect wife she would have made. Her impeccable manners, her respectful conduct, and even the spotless hall around them all spoke in her behalf. And her beauty was more obvious than Lothíriel's, what with her shining bright hair and fine features. However, whenever he looked at this woman, he knew with her something would always be missing. He couldn't help but think and miss the knowing smiles and penetrating looks, those gentle teasing words and the voice that spoke without restraint or calculating its impact. Fancy that, finding this kind of straightforward sincerity in a lady of Gondor instead of a bold lass of Rohan!

Be that as it may, Guthild did take a seat next to him and filled her own plate with thick, savoury stew and broke off a piece of still warm bread. Perhaps the poor young woman thought he wanted to get to know her better. He swallowed hard, knowing he could no longer postpone the conversation.

"My lady, I admit I did not come here only in the hopes of enjoying the hospitality of your Hall. I wanted to talk to you, and to your father", he began, painfully aware of how much this sounded like he was about to propose. Indeed, she lifted her eyes, wildly hopeful again, and he opened his mouth to continue as quickly as possible. It wouldn't do to keep up her hopes like this.

But Guthild spoke to interrupt him.

"Sire, I cannot tell how glad I am to hear it. Our hall is at your service in every way. In case you wish for company later tonight -"

That was too much. A dreadful sensation nearly overcame him, like she had just offered something that wasn't truly wholesome. Quickly he lifted his hand to interrupt her again.

"My lady, please let me finish first", he said a bit too loudly, at which several eyes of others sitting nearby were raised to study them in curiosity. Éomer cleared his throat and cast a sharp stare at those curious eyes. Then he faced again the lady, who stared straight back.

"Lady Guthild, you and your father have indeed been most welcoming in all our interactions, but let us not pretend ignorance. I know what hopes you have nurtured for me, and for the hope of an alliance between our Houses. As for me, it is a great honour, for your family has served the Mark well since times out of memory. It's all the more reason for me to be frank with you. My lady, I know it may disappoint you, but I need to make it clear that I'm not going to ask for your hand. Next spring, I am to marry Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, daughter of Prince Imrahil", he explained in a quiet voice so that only she would hear him. He hated how stiff and formal it all came out, as though he was reciting some report out of memory. Yet what else could it be? He hardly knew Guthild and come to think of it, every time they had spoken so far had felt like a court function. Perhaps it was unkind of him to think so, but he expected even the attempt of siring a child on her would have been like some kind of a performance.

Guthild's eyes widened just slightly and she lost a bit of her colour. Otherwise, she controlled her face carefully. Just how severe her disappointment was, he could not tell, but he was sure it hit her hard. All the same, Éomer felt like he had somehow betrayed her.

"If I may ask", she said at length, folding her hands neatly in her lap, "did you choose her for power?"

He ground his teeth together for a moment. Her question hit a nerve for more than one reason; Lothíriel had accepted him only because she believed he was not power-hungry.

"I did not. She's not a woman you can choose. In fact, if a choice was made, it was by her", he replied evenly.

Guthild said nothing at first. Her face was still paler than normal, but her features betrayed nothing. Even he, who prided himself in his skill of reading people, had no idea of what was going through the young lady's mind.

She would have made a fine queen in her own way. Many who thought Rohan took too much after Gondor would have loved her as their lady. But the time for that had passed already. From the moment Lothíriel had stepped into his life, it had been too late.

"It is her, then? A woman who would be queen?" asked Guthild in a low voice. She did not look at him, but rather considered her supper, which sat before her barely touched.

"No. She had no ambitions for the crown before we met, and perhaps still doesn't", he said. It felt awkward to be explaining himself and Lothíriel to this young woman, and maybe he was indulging her far too much to be doing it. However, Eadwig would probably have these same questions, and if his answers retained the good faith between their Houses, then so be it.

"Then how can she possibly manage as a queen?" Eadwig's daughter wanted to know.

_Now there's that Eorling __bluntness_. The thought almost made him smile, even if he did not much enjoy the sentiment behind it.

"As well as anyone can – and as well as I can manage as a king, I suppose", he answered curtly. At this point, it was getting harder to remember why he needed to remain courteous.

So he took a deep breath and looked at her, trying to catch her gaze but not quite managing. He said, "I am truly sorry if I have caused you a disappointment. It was never my intention. But in this matter I will take my own counsel. Hopefully in time, you will see it was the right course all along. A woman such as yourself will find ways to work for the good of our people, even if it's not by the King's side."

So he said to her in the hopes of reminding her of the first, the most important thing about the crown: it was not glory or power or ambition. Before a king or a queen was anything else, it was the servant of the people. Or the shield, or the sword of the people, as so many kings of Eorl's line before him had been.

It was one of the last things Théoden had told him. In his bones, he felt that of Lothíriel and Guthild, the former was more likely to understand what it meant.

But Guthild's face was blank and her posture stiff as she rose up on her feet. As graceful as ever, she curtsied at him.

"I beg your pardon, Sire. I must go and make sure all is well in the kitchen", she said, and before he could say anything, Guthild had already moved away.

He suppressed a groan and leant back on his seat. He had half a mind of chasing after her, even though he knew it would be a waste of time. She needed her time simmering down. Sometimes he truly envied Amrothos for his silver tongue; Imrahil's youngest son would surely have known how to smooth down any ruffled feathers. _Elven poet you are not, cousin mine_, Théodred had once said, and even now his voice seemed to be speaking from years ago.

Perhaps he should have offered to make inquiries on her behalf at Edoras. He was sure his advisers could name at least one or two unmarried lords near to the throne; at least Erkenbrand had a find young son only couple of years her junior, and he did not yet have a wife. However, Guthild struck him as a woman who didn't accept seconds. Not to mention, she might have regarded it as an insult added to the injury.

"How did it go, then?" asked Éothain. The Captain had kept his distance, knowing this was one conversation his king wanted to have alone. Still, judging by his expression, he already got the general gist.

"Well, at least she didn't throw me out", Éomer muttered and took a long sip of his ale.

"You may want to appease to her, or to her father, once the dust has settled somewhat. While your bride doesn't strike me as an avaricious woman, I think she will want other morning gifts than a set of enemies made before she ever set foot in Rohan", Éothain noted quietly.

Now the young king could not hold back his groan.

"Aren't you just the ray of sun and optimism?" he said under his breath, even though his captain wasn't saying anything that hadn't crossed his own mind already.

Éothain's eyes, usually so good-natured, were now serious.

"'Remind him of the worst'", he said, slow and quiet. The words rather took Éomer aback, but Éothain continued already, "That's what Théoden said to me. You probably don't know it, but he spoke to me briefly that night we camped under Min-Rimmon before the battle. There was so much he wanted to teach you, but I think he already knew he wasn't going to survive. I suppose he expects us to figure this out together."

Éomer relaxed somewhat and cast a weary, humourless smile at his oldest friend.

"Then he was smarter than either of us", he said wryly.

Éothain smiled as well.

"Aye, that he was. But we aren't going to disappoint him, are we?"

"Never. And I'll be damned if I fail him before even having a chance of showing what I've got."

Éomer retired soon after supper. Guthild had not made another appeaance, and it was a serving woman of hers she sent to inquire whether there was anything more he needed. He asked her to compliment the mistress of the hall for the meal, although he suspected in Guthild's mind it would be empty flattery after he had refused her.

No wonder he missed Lothíriel, her easy affection and calm presence, more than usual tonight. Yet it would be many long weeks, perhaps months, before he saw her again. So he settled down in his bed, spread a piece of parchment on his knee, and began to compose a letter for her. It would probably be messy thanks to the circumstances, but he knew she wouldn't mind. He pictured her as she travelled back to her home by the sea, and then a Rider putting his message in her hand; the slight smile and twinkling of her eyes. Perhaps she would read it in her workshop, hands stained with this or that herb, before she took her own writing easel and began her answer. Maybe now she wouldn't hesitate to write about the things she saw.

But as he laid himself down to rest, his mind returned to Éothain's words, and he wondered if he had indeed made enemies for Lothíriel by refusing to think of any woman but her. Who could blame her, though, when they saw her with him? So Éowyn had said, and so would his people understand sooner or later. And Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil of Dol Amroth, would bring much good with her to the land which had so suffered under the yoke of war. Just like she had given hope to him, she would give hope to Rohan.

In time, even Guthild would see that.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **I return with an update! I've been pretty busy lately, and haven't had too much energy for writing, so this chapter surely took its time. Either way, I'm fairly happy with how it turned out!

Altogether I expect this chapter will clear out some of your questions about Lothíriel. Yes, she is foresighted. Many of you have known this for some time. While foresight is not uneard-of in Middle-earth, I would think it's not that common, either. With Lothíriel I decided to give it my own little spin. Tolkien's characters credited with foresight always speak their prophecies with certain gravity, and you get the feeling it's not so frequent for them. However, she sees much and often, and like she tells him, for her there's no difference between what is and what may be. For the record, she's not all-knowing, hence her having uncertainty about Éomer's significance for her own life even when he was first proposing to her.

Foresight is something Tolkien always mentioned specifically about Dúnedain, which is also why I decided to make it a matter of legend among Rohirrim. This is partly the reason Éomer takes his time figuring it out, but it's also because his feelings for Lothíriel cloud his judgement. Plus, it's why Éowyn and Éothain think of her as strange; they're simply not used to someone like her. I hope this chapter will also explain her actions prior to the proposal and her sudden acceptance.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Let me know what you think!

* * *

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Glad to hear it!

**Melissa Black13 - **You had the right idea! I hope you liked the little bit of reveal in this chapter. :)

**EStrunk - **Happy to hear you think so! I have been enjoying writing her in this story very much, and I'm glad others are fond of her, too! Hopefully the conversation between Éomer and Éothain in the beginning answers your question.

I rather hope her being hurt by Éowyn's reaction is a welcome balance to her otherwise calm, at times even otherworldly appearance, but that could just be me!

**LH Wordsmith - **Thank you! :)

Glad you liked the sibling interactions! I rather enjoyed those bits as well. I hope her brothers' talks with Éomer show the differences between them.

Lothíriel definitely lives at times in her own world, and it's very much because of his feelings for her that he hasn't seen through it until now.

Thank you for your lovely words!

**sai19 - **Thanks! :)

**Jo - **Happy to hear it!

**Katia0203 - **:D Now that would be something, but I'm afraid my version isn't quite as inventive!

**Susnsmsh - **Thank you! I've taken particular enjoyment in writing the conversations in this story, so great to hear the dialogue is working that well!

I hope you liked this chapter, and the part where her gift is revealed!

**sailor68 - **It's not completely extraordinary in Middle-earth, but it's rather the case of her gift working a bit differently than it normally does. Plus, there's the additional stress of her dread of being used for her sight.

**Catspector - **Glad you liked it! It was delightful to write her brothers coming at him with their two cents. :D

**Simplegurl4u - **Thank you for your lovely comments! I just love it when readers take their time to comment on different parts on my stories. :)

The romance does move rather quickly, but I too wanted to have it essentially rooted in friendship and this sense of companionship that somehow became when they first met.

You're definitely right about her being fey! Éomer himself doesn't realise it at first - or maybe he does, but he's definitely biased in her favour. On the other hand, his feelings also cloud his judgement in some regards. It's also why he doesn't (yet) have an issue with her way of walking abroad alone.

I hope her explanation in this chapter is sufficient to clarify that "push and pull" thing she had going on! It's basically the mixture of being overwhelmed this charming man who is clearly interested in her, and yet believing with all her heart that it can only end in hurt and heartbreak for her.

**Guest - **I mean to, but real life has been taking its toll on me!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

A few weeks after Éomer had returned to Edoras with the happy tidings of his betrothal, Elfhelm the Marshal of East-Mark came riding to the capital of horselords.

He had been a trusted lieutenant of Théoden's, and while the old king had withered under Wormtongue's influence, Elfhelm had effectively been in charge of defending Edoras. Somehow he had managed to send intelligence to both Théodred and Éomer during those final days without Wormtongue's notice, seemingly taking orders from the traitor while in fact keeping faith with the Prince and the Third Marshal. In the Ring War, he had served as Théoden and later Éomer's chief commander. It only made sense to name him a Marshal once the war was over.

Now his seat was in Aldburg, Éomer's own old command and home. He could not have trusted that place to anyone else.

It was evening at the time, the bustle in the hall had quieted down after supper, and the young king was enjoying a mug of ale with Éothain over a game of King's table. The board and the pieces were fine polished wood and bone, their surfaces beautifully carved, and though they were well kept, they were probably from Thengel King's time. Théoden had not much cared for the game, but Théodred had been nearly unbeatable at it, and he had taught a trick or two to his cousin as well.

Éomer was just plotting a strategy to drive his opponent to a corner when Elfhelm arrived, striding wind-blown through the hall. The young king straightened himself and smiled at his friend and lieutenant.

"Welcome, Elfhelm. What brings you to Edoras at this time?" he asked.

"Some business and reports from the East-Mark, but it can wait until tomorrow", said Elfhelm as he shrugged off his cloak.

"Well then, have a seat and I'll ask somebody to bring you a plate from the kitchens", said Éomer, and with a thankful smile, his Marshal settled down at the table.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything important", Elfhelm said, nodding at the game-board.

"No, except Éothain's complete and utter humiliation in my hands", said Éomer pleasantly.

"He was doing nothing of the sort. He just likes to brag", Éothain sniffed and sipped his ale.

Elfhelm let out a barking laughter.

"Let the lad have it. Keeps him in a better mood", he said as though speaking wise words of counsel, but his eyes wrinkled at the corners and his mouth was twitching in amusement.

"Disrespected in my own hall. There's no decency left in this land", Éomer muttered in feigned offence.

"It's all gone to orcs", agreed Elfhelm and he grunted softly in satisfaction as a steaming plate of lamb-stew was placed before him. More ale was brought and Éomer filled their mugs again.

"How are things in the East-Mark? Anything I should be worried about?" he asked after a while, when Elfhelm was halfway through his meal.

"It's remarkably peaceful. I still wake up at night, expecting some kind of an orc-invasion that I must deal with immediately. For the time being, everybody is still talking about the royal wedding", said the Marshal and gulped down some ale. With a smile he asked, "Are your advisers still pissing honey over it?"

Éomer snorted in answer.

"More or less. It's been the talk of Edoras ever since I came home. Not only are they pleased I'm finally taking these steps, but they are also hopeful it will be good for trade. And they haven't forgotten about Imrahil's position as one of the leading men of Gondor", he replied, briefly recalling the stir it had caused when he had returned from Mundburg with news of betrothal. At least in the capital, the idea of his Amrothian bride was well received.

"Nor have they forgotten about Imrahil's great success in producing children. They have similar expectations for his daughter", Éothain put in, smiling wryly. Éomer glared at his friend, but the Captain ignored him.

"Some have doubts, of course", Éomer continued then, "Old Wigmund of my council asked me if I'm going to follow in Thengel's steps – and if Lothíriel will try to make this a Gondorian court, only on a smaller scale. I believe his questions only reflects what is talked of among some lords of the land, who hoped the new queen would come from among their daughters."

"Aye, I've heard such mutters as well. The common folk are behind you almost entirely, though, and your Marshals support you whatever you decide to do. No doubt a lady of some Eorling House would have made a fine queen, but truly rebuilding this land will be easier with Dol Amroth's aid. This is a new age and we can't ignore the world beyond our borders", Elfhelm replied as he dipped a piece of bread in the remains of his stew.

"I don't think anybody needs to worry about Lady Lothíriel trying to bring Gondor with her. She is... well, you'll see when you meet her. I think people like the fact she was helping at the Houses of Healing during the Battle of Pelennor fields", said Éothain for his part.

"They do indeed, at least judging by what I've heard in Aldburg. I'm sure at least a few young lads would agree it's nice to think of being tended to by the future queen of the Mark", Elfhelm commented and pushed back his now empty plate.

"Those mutters you mentioned... anything I should know of?" Éomer asked warily. He was thinking particularly of Eadwig. He had not heard complaints, but there had been a certain coldness about the man when he had heard his daughter was not to be a queen.

"Not at this point, I think. I would say it's petty enough to annoy you, but not serious enough to be troubling. And considering you get so difficult when you are annoyed, I think I shall spare us all and hold my peace", said Elfhelm with a faint smile, and Éothain grunted in agreement.

"I'm not difficult", Éomer said defensively, but both his friends gave him a pointed look. He frowned, and muttered in a low voice, "Well, maybe I'm sometimes difficult."

"He's learning", Éothain said, beaming as though a father who has just witnessed his son take his first steps.

"A hopeful sign", Elfhelm conceded brightly and downed the last of his ale.

The young king grumbled.

"... all gone to orcs."

Somehow, his friends merely found it amusing.

* * *

In Edoras, Dol Amroth was all the rage for a while, and the Riders who had accompanied Éomer on his trip to the city by the sea were relentlessly pursued by curious askers. There was interest in the family of Prince Imrahil, and those who had interacted with him and his sons at the time of Théoden King's funeral were in equally high demand. Half the young girls of the capital seemed to be in love with Erchirion and Amrothos simply by reputation – a likely cause for some grey hairs among the girls' fathers.

And then there was Leofrun. The woman had descended into an entirely new level of frenzy, and no resident of Meduseld was safe from her. Although it was still many months before spring, it appeared she already had a minute timetable prepared for the wedding. When Éomer tried to remind her it was all too early to be worrying about it, Leofrun would give him a sharp stare, and say, "Lad, one gets to prepare a royal wedding only once in a lifetime, if even that, and I'll be damned if yours is not talked of decades hence."

Eventually he rather gave up his attempts of curbing her, and just tried to keep from her way. Still, he did wonder how Lothíriel and Leofrun were going to get along; there was definitely potential for an interesting relationship right there.

Yet as exciting as the news of a royal wedding had been, eventually the first rush of curiosity and enthusiasm slowed down into patient waiting. The undercurrent remained, though: for the first time in decades, the Mark was to have a queen. Perhaps this too would ease Lothíriel's way. When people didn't know what to expect of their king's consort, she could more or less invent it herself.

Though the wedding itself was still months away, Riders travelled frequently between Edoras and Dol Amroth. As much as this union had its roots in mutual affection, it was still to be between two great Houses of Rohan and Gondor, and politics were an inevitable part no matter what Éomer told anybody. It appeared Lothíriel came with a major baggage of intricate contracts, agreements, trading negotiations, and a treaty to formally establish a diplomatic relationship between Dol Amroth and Rohan. Éomer did not think Lothíriel herself cared much for any of it, but Imrahil seemed set on making sure that not even the smallest detail was ignored in his daughter's marriage. Future scholars of Gondor would no doubt delight in the amount of information they could gather and study on this subject.

His own advisers were at least as keen on the negotiations as Imrahil, and at times Éomer felt like others were making a much greater fuss of this union than he and Lothíriel. Recalling the way she had reacted to hearing about Éothéod and their nomadic life, he suspected she too would have been happy with a simple handfasting ceremony as was the old way of the Mark. As for his bride, one concern close to his heart and mind was making sure that her morning gift was fit for a queen. So he sent his most trusted horse-breeders to pick studs and mares so that she might start her own herd, and chose lands and homesteads from his own inheritance that had come from Éomund. Knowing her love of woods, he even included a parcel of forest land south-east from Aldburg – a kingly gift in a land of grass-plains, but a queen deserves no less.

Arranging her morning gift was not the only thing to be prepared. At Éomer's orders, one old storehouse was taken down near Meduseld and a group of masons and carpenters were tasked with building a workshop for her use. It would be half the size of the one she had in Dol Amroth, but space was in high demand at the royal grounds, and in any case, she would have plenty of room for storing needful things in kitchens or in the Queen's solar. He made sure the best craftsmen would provide supplies and furniture for the workshop, and even suggested they frequent the swan symbol in the wood-carvings; a memento of the first queen of a new dynasty for generations to come. Perhaps one day Lothíriel would teach her own daughters in the workshop, Éomer thought to himself as he watched the first bricks laid and the mead poured to earth to ensure good fortunes both for the task of building and for the workshop itself. Some members of the royal household, or folk going in and out of Meduseld on some business, stopped to watch the scene as well – perhaps wondering about the woman for whom all this was being prepared.

But not all communication between Edoras and Dol Amroth was politicking. For along with the negotiations, private letters were carried from Edoras to Dol Amroth and back. Much to his council's exasperation, those were the messages he most looked forward to, and read first before any formal statement from Imrahil. To add to their frustration, Lothíriel was a prolific writer; there was usually more than one sheet, and even the margins were at times filled with her tidy hand.

Somehow he sensed a greater freedom and confidence in the way she wrote to him. But he might have anticipated it, for now he knew of her sight and indeed, sometimes she did tell him of the things she had seen. It still humbled him from time to time, this wondrous knowledge that someone so special wanted to share her life with him. Yet as delightful as her letters were, and though he consumed each word like a starving man, the correspondence only made him hunger for her presence more, and sometimes missing her was like the phantom pain of a missing limb. He had never guessed how another person could become so important, so integral, in such a short while. And yet he suspected it was so with Lothíriel. She walked in your life, and however brief her touch and presence were, you would remember her all your days.

It was not long after his return home that Éomer set Leofrun with an important task: his bride was in need of some of the finest Rohirric wool. He had not forgotten the way she had lovingly touched his cloak and asked to have some of its like. As for Leofrun, she seemed pleased that the future queen already had interest in Rohirric products, and was happy to provide her king with a new green cloak and a soft, cream-coloured blanket. She also found some untended wool fabric for the lady to use as she saw fit.

He had these things neatly packed and covered in oilcloth so that the changeable weathers would not damage the fine wool. A messenger would deliver the gift, with orders to look after the package as though it contained jewels and other heirlooms. In earnest Éomer watched the Rider take his leave, and feeling rather disappointed he could not be there when she opened the bundle.

Her response a few weeks later excelled all his expectations. The first part of Lothíriel's letter was nearly incoherent with giddiness, a joy so pure and youthful as if coming from a maiden much younger and wholly ignorant of evils of the world. Perhaps it came with her gift: if time was not the same for her as it was for others, then wouldn't she also feel her age differently?

And her answer was not just words. With the letter, another bundle was delivered, similarly wrapped in an oilcloth. Inside another layer of coarse cloth he found a neatly folded shirt, made of the softest fabric he had ever touched in his life. Within the package there were some dried herbs and the innards smelled fresh and pleasant even after a long journey. The shirt was almost lighter than a feather to touch, and felt cool and soft against skin. He wasn't even sure it was cotton. At the neckline, she had used fine silver thread to embroider a silver horse at each side, and gold glowed in his mane like sun and fire. It was easily one of the finest pieces of clothing he had ever owned, and it certainly became at once his favourite.

His answer to her, and his thanks, were probably nearly as giddy as hers had been.

Eventually, summer began to fade into a golden autumn. Harvest time was busy in the Mark, as in all places where Men had farms. Grain, vegetables and fruit streamed out of fields and orchards, storages and smoking houses filled with freshly slaughtered animal carcasses, and Éomer did not complain when black pudding or blood sausages were served in Meduseld; it was well that all was made to use. After several thin years, harvest came as a time of plenty, even opulence. This winter, no help from Gondor would be needed. Even in Westfold, where he rode to see homesteads built anew, the burned ground had healed enough to yield a good harvest. Yet it would be years before the beautiful apple orchards would again bloom in that part of the kingdom.

He wrote to Lothíriel about these things, and seeing her usual interest in how things were done in Rohan, he asked Leofrun for details; the housekeeper looked pleased to hear the future queen was so willing to learn. However, Éomer was not able to relate his bride even half the things that Leofrun told him, and at any rate he believed letters between a man and his future wife should be filled with other things than household details.

But as it was, he knew he would probably see her before his letter concerning these matters reached her; at the end of September, he was to travel to Mundburg once more. Usually, Éomer made that journey only with his own guard, but this time he would be travelling with an extended company. Not only Marshal Elfhelm would join him, but also a couple of his advisers and some of the leading nobles of the land, along with their wives. It was to be their final meeting with Imrahil before the wedding and the royal council was eager to talk about the marriage contracts face to face with the Prince. Most likely, they guessed Éomer himself would be too preoccupied with his bride to give the matter what they deemed appropriate degree of attention. Doubtlessly they were also curious to see Rohan's future queen with their own eyes.

Taking such a company with him meant more formality and delays on the road, but his own royal advisers and members of Eorling nobility rarely visited Mundburg, which might even serve as a kind of diversion; perhaps for once, Aragorn's court would rather be interested in these rare guests, and allow the King of Rohan some much-needed time alone with his bride. The sneaky little thing, if she wanted some privacy, would probably find the opportunity. The thought made him shiver in anticipation.

A letter from Dol Amroth arrived just days before he and his company were set to leave for Gondor. Her timing was perfect, but one would expect nothing less of one with foresight; most likely, she had known the hour her message was put in his hand. He recalled her words: _no veil between what is and what may be._ For Lothíriel, writing her letters probably often felt like she was talking straight to him.

Either way, the mood of her letter was glad and eager, and she ended it with some advice that was probably going to be dearly appreciated: _Dress warmly for your journey! It will rain heavily on the day you arrive._

Éomer smiled to himself as he read the line and thought of her back in Dol Amroth writing these words. Some other man, keen to grow his own power, would indeed be gleeful to have a wife who could see things that had not yet happened.

Himself, he was perfectly satisfied if she simply used her gift to warn him of rainstorms on his way.

* * *

This time, Lothíriel was not waiting for him by the side of the road when Éomer and his company finally reached the Pelennor fields. He half expected to see her there, sitting on that same great stone as before, even though it was raining cats and dogs by the time he finally saw the looming shape of the city in grey twilight. She had spoken true when she had written of rain on the day of his arrival.

He pulled his cloak better around himself. Rohirric wool kept water very well, but after a whole day's downpour, he seriously looked forward to a hot bath and a change of clothes. A damp chill was starting to settle into his bones.

Éomer glanced back to see the rest of his company, all of them weary from the long road and eager for some warmth and dry clothes. So he gestured to move forward again. Mundburg was not far off now.

The eyes of the White City did not rest even in a storm: as ever, the King of Rohan was welcomed with the great silver trumpets, though the sound was dull in the heavy gloom of the weather. Streets of the city were remarkably empty as they passed through. Most of the city-folk were safely tucked away in their homes, but here and there window shutters opened to reveal a few curious faces as the company of Rohirrim passed by.

Their horses were left at the royal stables close to the Citadel, and Éomer patted Firefoot fondly. The stallion surely had earned a good rubbing and a warm blanket after carrying his Rider through such conditions. Firefoot snorted softly before he allowed himself to be led away.

The young king was a little bit disappointed when he and his company arrived at the Citadel and Lothíriel was not there to meet the party. On the other hand, he did not want her to stand waiting for him in the rain, or to introduce her to his company as such. She might have guessed it and so stayed away. And yet he hungered even for a glimpse of her face, a briefest word from her mouth. It felt like years, not months, had passed since they had last seen one another.

He was taken to the same rooms as usually when he visited Mundburg. The space was softly lit and a small fire was burning in the fireplace. It looked very cosy and he felt momentarily regretful for dripping rainwater all over the floors. But all such thoughts vanished when a servant announced his bath was ready, and Éomer had a hard time not hurrying his squire working over his armour; poor lad's fingers seemed to be quite stiff from riding in chilly rain for hours.

The bathwater was on the verge of being a little too hot, but he welcomed the heat and sunk into it with a low, satisfied groan. The chill and the tension in his bones began to ease and for a while, he rested there limply, eyes half closed. Now the anxious urge to see _her_ became more of a pleasant expectation. She was here and her quiet, calm presence seemed to fill these stone halls. For the time being, that knowledge in itself was enough. Although he wouldn't have minded her company, perhaps even in this very tub...

After the bath, he pulled on a robe and made his way to the bedchamber, where a change of clothes was waiting for him. A pleasant scent greeted him as he stepped inside and it did not take long for him to locate the source. On the table by his bed, a freshly made bunch of herbs sat in a glass vase. He recognised at least salvia and rosemary, though there were others too. He smiled to himself as he breathed in the smell. _She_ had come to greet him after all.

When he had dressed and enjoyed a light meal of cold meats, cheese and fruits, it was the time to make his way to Merethrond. There he was to present his bride to his own company. Aragorn had promised not to make it into a full-blown court occasion, but no doubt at least a few of the great lords and ladies would be present. The coming few days would probably see several balls and banquets and such, but he was glad this first night was to be more discreet.

At Merethrond, his advisers and the lords with their wives clustered around Elfhelm as though waiting to take their cues from him. No wonder: excluding Éomer himself, Elfhelm had visited Mundburg most often. Some of the party had never seen the White City before, or even left the borders of the Mark. Yet they did not look intimidated by the grand environment, but rather regarded it with good-natured curiosity, and met the eyes of their Gondorian counterparts boldly. But those curious looks shifted to Éomer when he came to join his party.

"Is she here already, Sire?" asked Lord Wigmund, an old trusted adviser of Théoden's, now serving under the new king. He was scanning the great hall with his eyes, and occasionally regarding one lady or the other. But Lothíriel was not yet to be seen, and neither was her father.

"Trust me, you will know when you see her", Éomer replied, which roused a few whispered conservations around him.

"Is she very fair?" asked one of the lords, standing right behind Éomer's elbow.

"To me, absolutely. But I doubt I'm the best person to ask", he replied with a faint smile.

"I suspect she will be hailed as a beauty in Rohan either way. Few of our people have seen noble ladies of Gondor", Elfhelm said close by. "Yet I do not think our king chose her because of her looks."

"I would have things to say if he had", muttered Lord Ormar, another respected member of the council. "Many things."

"The fear of you alone steered me clear of choosing a bride merely because she pleased my eye", Éomer commented wryly, and not a few of his companions chuckled at this statement.

The conversation died when the atmosphere seemed to tense. Éomer stood straighter and scanned the crowd, and soon enough the herald announced the arrival of Prince Imrahil and his daughter, Lady Lothíriel, bride of King Éomer. He wasn't sure which of them was most eager to see her, he or his companions. The silence around Éomer was so thick one might have cut it with a knife.

Then she arrived, walking by the arm of her father, and looking so radiant that he felt himself go just a little bit weak in the knees. The chill and the damp had no effect on her beaming appearance. She was arrayed in her usual blue and silver and her hair was neatly braided and fastened with silver pins. Quickly her eyes found his own, like she had known where to look for him, and her smile took a slightly more private glow. It took considerable effort to stand where he was, and not stride forward to meet her – put his arms around her and forget about the crowds around them.

However, as she and her father began to approach the party of Rohirrim, Éomer felt sudden dread and doubt. He should have talked beforehand with her, prepare her for meeting his advisers and the nobles with him. It would be better if she knew more of them before meeting the lot. Of course, he had told her about these people in their letters, but only in passing, and now he realised he should have said plenty more.

As he sought her eyes for any sign of nervousness, he found none. She was as calm and steadfast as ever, and only raised a quizzical eyebrow at his searching look. But now she was too close, and it was too late to worry about things he should have said before. He stepped forward to meet her and Imrahil. The King and the Prince exchanged the warrior's greeting, grasping each other's arms. All the while, he was aware of _her_, and of her eyes on him.

"My lady", he greeted her as he picked up her hand; it was all so unpleasantly formal, but here in the eyes of the court one could not avoid the required dance and song.

"My lord", she replied sweetly, curtsying in deference, although her eyes sparkled with unbridled joy and some mischief known only to her. He swallowed hard, banished the urge to sweep her off of her feet, and said, "Come meet my trusted advisers and chief lords of the land of the Mark."

"With pleasure", she replied, placing her hand on his arm. Éomer took a deep breath and brought her forward, already keenly aware that his whole company was now studying his future wife. The next few moments were likely to set the tone for the start of his marriage.

"Here are Lord Wigmund and Lord Ormar. They counselled my uncle in his time, and are now doing the same for me", he introduced the two men. Their long service to Rohan surely earned precedence in the introductions. Ormar was a tall man with flaxen hair and lined face, and though his appearance betrayed he had never been a professional Rider, he was still reckoned as a masterful horseman. He was indomitably loyal to the throne and had spent most of his life in the service of the crown, much of it as a scribe before earning the seat in Théoden's council. It was said no living man knew the laws of Eorlingas as well as he did. As for Wigmund, he was shorter and broader in build, with steel-grey hair and an immaculately styled beard that was probably better looked-after than some women's hair. His hazel eyes peered from under bushy eyebrows – often suspiciously, as Éomer had noticed very quickly when he had become the King of Rohan. He had been a Rider in his day, serving with Théoden himself, and his courage and cunning on the battlefield had made him a trusted man of the late king. It was no secret he tolerated all things Gondorian with certain prejudice, for which reason Éomer had been surprised when Wigmund had offered to come along.

_"Westu hal, hláford Wigmund. Westu hal, hláford Ormar"_, she greeted them, smiling brightly. Lothíriel must have spent time practising the greeting, as her accent was only barely noticeable. Both lords regarded her in surprise, as did others yet waiting to be introduced.

"You know Rohirric, my lady", Ormar observed, not even attempting to hide his pleasure at this fact.

"Only a few words I've picked up from the King and his Riders. I do wish to learn more, though. What queen does not know how to speak to her people in their own tongue?" said Lothíriel, soft and charming; he looked at her in growing pride and wondered why he had ever worried whether she'd manage with his lords or not.

But not everyone was going to let her charm them just so.

"There was one such queen, and she came from Gondor as well", said Wigmund, visibly less delighted with her attempt to win him over.

Éomer looked swiftly at the man, ready to rebuke him right away, but the hand on his arm squeezed him briefly. When he glanced at his side, he saw Lothíriel meeting Wigmund's probing look calmly and evenly, and the piercing light of her eyes remained as bright as ever.

"But I'm not her", she said simply. And somehow the simplicity and the determination in her voice made her response all the more impactful than any explanation or clarification could. Wigmund raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He could not mask the look of interest that ignited in his eyes, though.

"My lord, my lady – if it pleases the King, might he not send one of his older Riders to stay with the Lady Lothíriel for the coming winter? That way, she could start learning our language before the wedding", Elfhelm put in, looming next to Wigmund and seemingly enthused to get a closer look at the King's bride.

"Marshal Elfhelm. You will forgive him for speaking before I've had a chance to introduce him", said Éomer, casting a look of feigned severity at the man. Then turning his eyes back to her, he went on, "But no matter what is said of his lack of manners, his suggestion finds no opposition in me. Would you be willing to take such a teacher, my lady?"

She smiled first at him and then at the Marshal.

"It would be my pleasure. It feels right to learn Rohirric from the King's own man – a Rider and a warrior like himself", she said emphatically. Elfhelm, Ormar and even Wigmund all nodded in approval.

It was a marvellous thing to see: Lothíriel standing next to him straight and proud, refusing to be cowed, and yet showing respect for the ways of her new people. Éomer felt like he might burst with sheer pride he felt for his wife to be.

_Like a tree that has not yet bloomed or borne fruit. _So Aragorn had said, but maybe that time had now come.

"I shall speak with my captain, then, and find the right man for the job", Éomer said, keeping his expression and tone as even as he could. It wouldn't do to gloat to Wigmund's face when the man was chief among those who had doubted his choice of bride. It was never a good idea to make a man feel like his pride was disputed.

Some more small talk was then exchanged before the betrothed couple moved along the line to meet the other members of the King's company. Generally, it went very nicely. She spoke well and pleasantly with the Rohirrim, greeting all of them in their own tongue, and taking interest in all that was said to her. Only once did Éomer spy the tell-tale sign of her seeing something with her other sight; the blank look in her eyes and her gentle sway against him were now known to him. But he covered that moment with his own talk, and when she came to, she cast a bright smile at the lord and lady they were currently speaking with and apologised for feeling a little light-headed for a moment. Éomer studied their company keenly for a minute, but it did not seem like anyone had taken notice of Lothíriel's momentary distraction.

Most of the evening passed in this manner. Small talk could be wearisome, but Rohirrim generally had fewer rules as far as propriety and etiquette went, and he thought Lothíriel was in fact enjoying herself as she interrogated his company about life in Rohan, its people and its history. As far as he could tell, they were pleased with her apparent interest in her future homeland. It was good that Lothíriel would have allies in Rohan even before she became the queen. Altogether he was satisfied to call the night a success.

Tonight Imrahil was in a generous mood, and so he allowed his daughter to be escorted home by her bridegroom. He even went as far as staying behind for a bit to talk with Aragorn to let the couple make their way alone, although provided that a few guards came as escorts. The rain had finally ceased and while the air was a bit chilly, it was the first chance of actually speaking in moderate privacy. Éomer was quietly pleased to see she was wearing the new green cloak.

"You did well tonight. I think they liked you – at the very least, they are sure to reconsider whatever doubts they may have had", said Éomer to the woman walking by his side, her hand again on his forearm and her shoulder lightly brushing against him as they slowly made way towards the sixth level of the city.

She glanced up at him with a slight smile.

"I'm glad to hear it. I felt so nervous when you introduced me to them", she replied softly.

"Truly? You didn't seem nervous at all", he wondered out loud.

She cast him a wry look.

"My aunt Ivriniel has been instructing me. Nobody manages small talk and court etiquette like her. She and Finduilas were always famous for their dignity and sophistication", she replied, as though admitting some sinister plan. "But to be honest, it helped because it was easy to talk to your people. They are more straightforward in their manner and plain in speech. I was not thinking so much of whether I was being strange or not."

Something about her words made him feel immensely fond and tender for her. The way she tried so hard for him, even though he had never asked it of her... how had he deserved this?

"Then I shall hope you will always feel that way among Rohirrim", he said, hoping that his voice was not too choked with emotion. She flashed him a smile and squeezed his arm, most likely aware of what he was feeling. Dear woman.

"I liked Marshal Elfhelm. He seems nice", she said then. They had now walked through the gates of the Citadel at remarkably slow pace, but already they were much closer to her father's town house than Éomer would have liked.

"Aye, he is that. He's a good, reliable man. He doesn't care much for politics, which is probably why we get along so well", he said with a faint smile.

"He loves you dearly – would give his life for you, if you ever asked it of him. And even if you didn't", Lothíriel said quietly. A strange shiver ran down his spine.

"Is that your sight talking?" he wanted to know.

"I don't know. Maybe. Sometimes even I can't tell", she replied at length.

"Isn't it confusing?"

She shrugged.

"I suppose it can be. But I try not to think of it too much. I don't know if it makes any sense to you, but with a gift like this, it's often easier to just let it lead you."

Éomer wasn't sure he understood, and perhaps she even couldn't explain it in a way that would satisfy all his curiosity. He surely had more questions, but this was the first night in many months they were together, and interrogations could wait.

"In any case, I must apologise for not preparing you better for meeting my company. I should have told you more about them", he said in low tones, lowering his head.

"Don't worry about it, dear heart. It's not like we have time to talk beforehand. And you have told me enough in your letters so that I knew what to expect", she said nonchalantly, patting his arm.

"Obviously. They loved that you greeted them in our own tongue and they will think well of you for it", he said, smiling again at the memory.

"Then I shall try very hard to learn your language as soon as I can. Your voice is different when you speak it... somehow softer and richer. And a wife can't let her husband have a secret language of his own", she said lightly, making him snort.

"We can't have that."

She hemmed softly and leaned against him for a moment. They were almost to the town house now and soon he would have to tell her good night. How abysmal.

"Do you think everyone will be comparing me to Morwen Steelsheen?" she asked suddenly, only moments before they reached the gates of the town house.

"Maybe some will, at first. But I would not worry about it. They will soon realise you're nothing like her", he reassured her firmly.

"But they will still wish you had chosen a bride in Rohan", she said, speaking so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

Éomer halted and put his hand on her shoulder, turning her gently towards himself.

"And they will wish Théoden had had more sons, or that Théodred hadn't died, or the world was never broken, and a hundred other things. Someone will always think you're not good enough no matter what you do. Remember it, but also remember it's not the whole truth. You have your supporters, too", he told her. Slowly her expression, troubled and withdrawn, relaxed once more and a slight smile returned.

"A wise fool you are, King Éomer", she said tenderly.

"I try my best", he said and leaned down to kiss her brow. She let out a soft sigh and pressed herself against him, as though at the end of a very long day. He was glad to wrap his arms around her, and when she lay her cheek against his chest, he felt like all the frustration and tension of the last few weeks melted away.

"I'm glad you're here", she whispered at length, standing still in his arms.

"So am I", he uttered back. He knew he was going to have let go of her and tell her good night, but he desperately wanted to lengthen this moment at least a little bit more.

Imrahil, however, was not having it. He had finally caught up with them and interrupted the sweet moment by clearing his throat.

"Lothíriel, why don't we get inside? It is getting late", said the Prince as he arrived at the scene. Éomer turned to face Imrahil and was relieved to see that the man did not seem too dismayed to find his daughter embracing her future husband, even though he couldn't have missed the intimacy of the moment.

"Very well, Father", said Lothíriel and she stepped back from Éomer's arms. He suppressed a sigh of frustration and impatience and reminded himself she was not yet his wife. What a completely frustrating thing.

"Good night, then. I shall see you tomorrow?" he asked her, and briefly she held his hand in her own. Her smile, at least, made it a little bit better.

"Indeed you shall. Good night."

When Éomer made his way back to the Citadel, followed by his grinning guards, he was thinking of spring.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N:** Here is the new chapter! I hope you like it. :) Originally, this chapter was mean to tackle several other things, but at around 14000 words I realised I had to split it.

I rather enjoyed writing Éomer interacting with his friends and advisers, and I expect at least Ormar shall make other appearances later on in the story. :) I think Lothíriel has made a fairly good first impression on them (which she would be trying to do, based on how her initial meetings with Éothain and Éowyn went). And it's endearing to think of Éomer basically vibrating with how proud of her he is.

The game Éomer and Éothain are playing at the beginning is based on a real game of the same name, which belongs in a family of strategy games known as "tafl". These were played by Vikings and were introduced by them to many of the lands where they travelled.

As ever, I'm most thankful for all your comments, favourites and follows! If you got time, let me know what you think. :)

* * *

**pzacharatos - **No problem, and thanks for leaving a comment! :)

**EStrunk - **Was it coincidence or fate that he knew to use that exact phrase - I leave that for you to imagine. ;) I think indeed things can be confusing for her sometimes, but after a lifetime she probably knows how to navigate with her sight fairly well. As for her vision of being used as a tool of power, it's more of a case of this would happen to her unless a very specific man was her husband.

Anyway, you're quite right, and as Éomer himself says to Lothíriel in this chapter, there will always be people who criticise you no matter what you do.

**Catspector - **Glad to hear it! I know her behaviour has at times been odd, but there has always been a reason behind it. I would say she felt increasingly tormented as her feelings for him grew while believing she could not have him. Having that burden removed, she's eager and willing to fit in his world. But how that turns out remains to be seen!

**LH Wordsmith - **Thank you!

Interesting words on Guthild! I can't say much on your thoughts for the time being, but we'll see how that relationship works out. :)

Also thanks for pointing out the mistake!

**Jo - **We'll see! ;)

**Simplegurl4u - **Thank you, both for this chapter and all of your lovely comments on other stories of mine!

I would think Éomer has seen enough hints about what her deal is, and would figure it out by himself. I think Lothíriel herself didn't really know how to tell him about it. On one hand, it may seem a simple thing to do, but she would probably not feel like it's in any way simple.

Glad to hear if the garden scene had such an impact! ;)

It was indeed a fairly big disappointment for Guthild and for her father.

**fantasticferret - **Thank you!

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Thanks! :)

**Wondereye - **Glad to hear it!

**Leilal - **I'm rather impatient to get there too, but the story is unfortunately taking its time with me!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

When they met for breakfast next morning, Lothíriel asked him if he wanted to come with her to the Houses of Healing. She wished to talk to some of the healers, who were wise in herb-lore, and consult their books and scrolls.

"I know it may not be the most interesting thing to do, so you don't have to come", she said, but he was quick to dismiss her doubt.

"I would love to join you. It was where we first met, isn't it?" he pointed out, making her smile.

But he didn't agree to go with her simply because of some sentimental urge of reminiscing on their first meeting. He was also curious to learn more of her dealings with herb-lore. It was all so far removed from his usual concerns of statecraft and ruling, these glimpses of her world offered a welcome respite.

So together they made way to the Houses of Healing soon after breakfast. Éomer had not visited the place after the day he had met Éowyn there and his sister had taken him on a tour. It felt odd to think of it. He recalled the anxious way he had searched the faces of healers, hoping for the precious glimpse of the woman who had comforted him the night after battle... then he had resigned himself to the likelihood of never seeing her again.

Now that strange maiden walked by his side, talking lightly of all the wondrous things one could learn in the Houses of Healing. Overcome with the need to make sure she really was there, and not just the result of some elaborate dream, he grasped her hand in his own. She fell quiet and looked up at him, and he thought she understood.

Inside the Houses, she met with a few of the healers to ask them some questions, and one major interest of hers seemed to be how to safely transport some cuttings of plants over long distances; he reckoned she was already planning her new garden in Meduseld and was hoping to bring some seedlings with her. She also consulted some books in the small library attached to the Houses, and he was given the task of handing her some volumes on the top of the shelves, which she couldn't reach.

Though he didn't know much of herb-lore, and was mostly just tagging along, Lothíriel did not forget him. At times she would turn to him to explain whatever issue she was talking about with the healers or looking for in the books. She even took him to the workshop attached to the Houses and showed him how to make a salve for tending to burns. If the healers thought it strange that the King of Rohan should be following Imrahil's daughter around in the Houses, they didn't show it. The occasional convalescing patient or a visiting family member they came across on the hallways looked more perplexed to see them.

Although all this was so far removed from his own usual environment, Éomer could see the pleasure of it. There was joy in studying things that grew and using them to make remedies and salves and oils – providing help or just ease in everyday life. It was a positive, helpful thing to do, however small or simple it might seem when one was sitting on some high throne of Men. Watching her skilful hands work with herbs and vials and pots, he couldn't help thinking how most of his life, he had been learning to destroy things.

Perhaps it was no wonder that he felt so drawn to her. When people like him had come through trampling and raging, her kind followed to fix and mend and make anew. In her astute way, she had called him a war king; it only made sense that he would need a queen like her.

Morning passed quickly in this manner, and eventually she suggested they take some lunch before heading back to the Citadel. Apparently, she was in the good graces of the Warden, for they were provided with a basket of goods from the kitchen. Lothíriel led the way to a wide chamber with a view to the garden. It was too chilly to eat outside, so they sat on the window board with space enough for them both and the basket. As it was hours since breakfast, they both were quite famished, and the first few minutes were spent simply on feasting their little luncheon.

But after a while Éomer felt like a suitable moment had finally arrived. At last he was face to face with her, they weren't too much bothered by others listening in as his guards were keeping their distance, and she looked to be in a happy, easy mood.

"We haven't really had a chance to talk about it, and I hope you will understand my curiosity... but the truth is, I don't know much or understand your gift. Have you always seen things?" he asked her. He kept his voice nonchalant, as he did not want to make her feel like his interest in her gift was somehow unseemly or sinister.

She glanced at him but did not seem bothered or taken aback by his question.

"Yes, I have – ever since I was a small girl. It was very confusing, because I didn't understand what it was, nor did I realise others didn't have it", she replied at length, holding her small earthenware cup between her hands.

He frowned at the thought.

"You must have been scared", he observed quietly.

"That I was. But thankfully, my father understood what gift had been given to me. He was of enormous help, even though he couldn't himself see like I did. Yet he taught me to live with my sight... and not hate it, like I might have", she said thoughtfully.

"Why should you hate your sight?" he wondered out loud.

Lothíriel cast him a joyless smile.

"Oh, it would be easy. It will always set me apart from others and because of it, I have never had many friends. It's usually easier to conform, and it takes courage to walk through this world being honestly and unashamedly yourself", she said and sipped her drink slowly.

He considered her words for a moment and found no argument with them.

"I had thought of you being here during the Battle of Pelennor fields... did you know, then, that the war would be won? Did you see it?" he asked her.

She smiled slightly and shook her head.

"I did not. Even the very wise and far-sighted did not know how it would end. Having this gift does not mean knowing all, or even understanding everything that is seen. What must happen will happen, whether I see it or not", she answered at length, taking care in choosing her words. She saw his look, and continued, "But I did know some things would pass if the war was won. For one, I saw you in happier days... and I knew I would meet you again."

"But not that you would agree to marry me."

"Not that part, no."

He regarded her a while, and she looked back at him with those wise, knowing eyes.

"You said it was confusing as a child. Was it very hard for you?"

"Not as hard as it could have been. Like I said, my father helped me greatly. And my brothers loved me and cared for me, no matter how strange I was. So I always felt safe. And sometimes the things I saw... it comforted me", she said, looking outside now.

"What things?" he asked her, and she glanced at him with a strange little smile on her features.

"Some things a woman keeps to herself", she said simply. Éomer was still curious but decided not to prod. That she was his bride did not mean she had to tell him everything. So he decided to ask a different thing.

"Was it hard to keep your gift a secret?"

"Sometimes, though my brothers helped whenever they could. You have seen I can't always hold it back... I forget what I can know and shouldn't know. But it got more serious for the past few years. Father was afraid a word of it would reach Lord Denethor's ears, and I would be brought against my will to Minas Tirith to be his eyes and ears..." she said, shuddering visibly.

"Did he not have the Seeing Stone, though? Would he really have made you his servant?" he wondered out loud.

"When he used the _palantír_, the Enemy was always staring back, and twisting what was seen. My sight can't be manipulated or shared by others. Lord Denethor would have thought of it as an advantage, I'm sure. Even though I can't decide what or when I see. I think... trying to force it would be harmful", she said and a dark look lingered on her features. He had no idea of how she would know such a thing, but then again, one might as well ask how she even had this gift.

"You won't have to worry about it in Rohan. You'll be as safe as you ever were in Dol Amroth", he told her gravely, holding her eyes with his own.

Her face softened and she reached for his hand.

"I know", said Lothíriel simply and settled back again.

They were silent for a moment, but the quiet did not last for long. Éomer still had questions to ask.

"Have there been others like you in your family?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know, and neither does Father. If there were, they didn't make noise about themselves... which I rather understand. It's easier when people don't know about this gift. Usually, it changes the way they see you. Of course, keeping it a secret might lead to an eccentric reputation, like in my case. Perhaps you think it's strange, but I still prefer it this way", she replied.

He considered this for a moment. Foresight was a gift some of the Dúnedain had: this was known in Middle-earth. Why hide it, then? But then he thought of her point of view. She had lived with this thing all her life, with no one to guide her but herself. Who could possibly understand what it was like for her? The night she had first admitted it to him, she had even momentarily suggested her sight was somehow crooked. And that was not all of it. Many years she had lived in dread of being used for her gift – and suffering harm because of it. Even protected by her father or her future husband, it would always make her vulnerable to some degree. If she thought it was easier to be simply considered a strange woman, how could he blame her or claim otherwise?

"For whatever it's worth, I never thought of you as strange. Or, if I did, it's simply a part of who you are. It doesn't make you any less dear to me. You are a rare, strange, wise woman and for me there is none other while you live and breathe in this world", he said at length, his words coming out slow and thoughtful. He did not guess how it would impact her, and was surprised to see the way her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She brushed away the basket between them and pressed herself against his side and half in his lap. She hid her face against his shoulder and though she did not weep out loud, he could feel her trembling.

"What is it? Did I say something wrong?" Éomer asked her worriedly, pressing one hand gently against her shoulder and the other against the back of her neck. She made a strange little sound that was somewhere between a laugh, a sob and a hiccup.

"Something wrong? Silly man", she muttered and fished for a handkerchief in her little purse. She patted her eyes dry and took a deep breath before looking straight at him again. Her voice was quiet and hoarse when she spoke, "I expected I was to be alone for all my life – that 'the wise fool' was only a bit of nonsense, or a conundrum of some kind. But that he is a real man, who is so sweet and wonderful to me, is sometimes hard to comprehend."

His heart simply melted at her heartfelt words. So he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips against her brow. He more felt than heard her letting out a soft sigh as she relaxed there.

"As far as I know, I'm not conundrum", he whispered to her, "but if you ask Éothain, he'll probably agree I _am_ full of nonsense."

She snorted in laughter.

"Well, how else would you be here?" she asked and leant close to kiss his cheek.

He had never known he could feel so tremendously happy.

* * *

On the fifth night of the visit, as the company had just finished a dinner hosted by Aragorn and Arwen and was engaged in quiet and pleasant conversation, Éomer considered everything was going very well. So far, through all the events and banquets and meetings, Lothíriel continued to win over the Rohirric company. Her manner was invariably graceful and charming, and she never failed to show them respect. Even so, he did wonder when he watched Lord Ormar escort her from the dining room, and saw that the usually solemn man was laughing at something she had said.

Marshal Elfhelm stood next to the young king and studied this scene in something like fearful awe.

"Béma, _what_ has she done to that old sourpuss? Or do I even want to know?" he muttered under his breath.

Éomer beamed at his friend.

"Do you see it now?" he asked the man, but Elfhelm just grunted in answer before moving to talk with Faramir.

Éomer gloated some more in silence before he approached his bride and Lord Ormar. However, as so often these days, he found himself engaged in a struggle for her time and attention: the company of Rohirric ladies who had come along with their husbands had surrounded Lothíriel and Ormar before he could reach them, and he knew he would have little chance of getting to her for the time being. While he approved of this fast friendship on principle, he wasn't so sure he enjoyed the amount of whispering and laughter that always increased when he got near.

Éowyn was with the ladies as well, and Éomer could not say that he sensed any unease from his sister or his bride. Whether this was because the two women had truly overcome it, or because it was simply easier to hide in company, he wasn't sure.

Knowing Lothíriel would be much occupied for some time, he made his way to Ormar instead. The man smiled wryly at the young king.

"Ah, so we have been both abandoned by the women in our lives", he noted; his own wife was standing right next to the King's bride.

"So it would appear. If I get to have another moment alone with Lady Lothíriel while we are in Mundburg, it will be a wonder", said Éomer and toasted his glass of wine with that of his adviser. "Though of course I'm glad she's making friends already."

"Aye, that is good indeed. She's a charming young woman, but she'll need guidance in the beginning. There are things where you can't be her sole teacher, Sire", said Ormar gravely. Hints of his earlier amusement had already vanished and he wore again his usual serious look.

"Yet I wish I could tell her everything she needs to know. I want to make it as easy for her as I can. Béma knows it was not so for me", said Éomer with a slight shake of his head.

"Judging by what I've seen of your bride so far, I'm sure she will be fine. But as much as you wish to spare her, she will face her own difficulties in time. Every king and every queen has their sorrows, though I'm told they are more easily borne by two sets of shoulders rather than just one", Ormar said evenly. He had been telling Éomer such things ever since he had returned to Rohan as the new king; sometimes he saw the sense in the man's words, but at other times, he was exhausted to death by what felt like empty wisdoms. Even so, he knew Ormar was a capable man, and he was not wrong. As much as Éomer desired it, he knew he wouldn't be able to shield Lothíriel from every mischance.

"So you do approve of her?" Éomer asked now, studying his adviser's solemn features keenly.

"I do indeed. Her family ensures us some highly desirable connections and she seems an agreeable young woman. Yet I wonder if her highest achievement so far is changing your highly obstinate mind, Sire", Ormar replied, and though his features remained as stern as ever, the spark of his earlier good humour appeared in his eyes.

Éomer managed to flash a pained smile, though he kept his comments to himself. As much as he trusted Ormar, he wasn't sure how he could explain that Lothíriel was the very reason he had not agreed to marry as quickly as his council would have liked.

"And Wigmund? What do you suppose his thoughts are?" he asked.

"He's more difficult to persuade, but I expect in the end he will decide you have chosen well. But before he does, you may anticipate he will haggle with Prince Imrahil over Lady Lothíriel's dowry with tooth and nail", Ormar commented, making Éomer chuckle under his breath at his adviser's astute prediction.

"I would be surprised if he didn't. As the King of Rohan, I suppose I should be glad I have such a bloodhound guarding the interests of the crown, but to tell you the truth, I would marry her even if she came with nothing but the clothes on her back", Éomer said quietly. He knew better than to admit such things to Wigmund, but Ormar had more understanding for subtleties.

"Careful, Sire. One might think you don't have Rohan's best interests in mind", Ormar said, though not entirely serious this time.

"If I am your king, then believe me when I say Rohan's best interest and Lady Lothíriel are mutually inclusive", said Éomer and emptied his glass.

"I can well believe it, Sire. Some kings of the Mark have ruled with their cunning, others with their fist. But you, I think, are a king to rule with your heart", Ormar spoke quietly.

Éomer looked at his adviser sharply. Ormar did not usually speak with such sentiment. And for a man who had spent his life in the middle of court intrigue, it was surprising he would make it sound like ruling with one's heart was a good thing. Times really were changing.

"Well, I was not born to it like Théodred. I must make do with what I was given", he said at length, still taken aback by his adviser's unusual confidence.

"Don't we all make use of our best parts? And you, Sire, as mighty a warrior you are, I think your heart is still the strongest thing in you", Ormar stated, much to his king's growing amazement.

"What's this now, Ormar? This is the most you have ever spoken pleasant words to me", Éomer wondered out loud, though he couldn't say he wasn't touched.

Ormar grunted and sipped his drink.

"Too much wine, my lord. Makes me a sentimental old fool", he replied, though there was a glint of wry humour in his ice-blue eyes.

"Now there's something you don't see every day", said Éomer, smiling at his adviser. Often it felt like the only interest his council had was telling him no, and few of them ever spoke of their lives and families. But moments like these he would recall they were men with hopes and hearts, and ultimately, they wanted no more and no less than he did: what was best for the Riddermark.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Sire. I shall hound you and your plans restlessly once we are back in Meduseld", Ormar said and patted his shoulder.

It was not long after that Lothíriel came to say good night. Usually, she would at least hug him or reach to kiss him, but as ever in public, she simply touched his hand before curtsying and making her way out with her father. He watched her go and let out a sigh, and then decided to talk with Aragorn for a bit before retiring for the night. His fellow king insisted him to stay for at least one more drink, and so it was over an hour later that Éomer finally collapsed in his own bed. Before falling asleep, he thought of the past few days and how well Lothíriel was doing with his company. As strange as she was, so could she be graceful and queenly, and he was more confident than ever that she would find her place in Rohan. He had not expected to walk this path and neither had she, and somehow this fact made it feel absolutely right.

He passed out soon enough and would probably have slept soundlessly until morning, but he was woken up some time later by anxious knocking at his door, and a guard's voice calling for him. It was still dark, so he could not have slept for very long.

"What is it?" Éomer groaned, still half asleep and irritated as he tried to understand what could warrant this disturbance in the middle of night.

"Sire, it is the Lady Lothíriel. She is here and asks to see you", said the guard through the door.

The young king was on his feet in seconds. What could she possibly be doing here at this time of night? The only reason he could think of was something had to be wrong.

He was still barefoot when he stepped into the drawing room, though at least he had found a shirt and trousers to toss on. Lothíriel was standing in the centre of the room, dressed in a simple gown and a cloak and her hair wild and open. She too must have practically jumped out of bed.

"Dear heart, what are you doing here? Is something the matter?" he asked her as he made his way to her and picked up her hands. She looked up at him and he saw her eyes were feverishly bright.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you like this, but I had to come to you straight away – I saw something..." she spoke quickly, words tumbling out of her mouth so fast they nearly collided together.

"Calm down, Lothíriel. Take a deep breath", he told her, his voice firm but even, as though he was commanding a young, anxious Rider. She obeyed, closing her eyes and focusing on breathing for a minute before looking at him again. Already she looked less distraught.

"Now, what is it? Has something happened? Is it your father?" he asked her calmly.

"No, it's not like that. I think I saw something in Rohan... there were men crossing a great river, carrying torches... they didn't seem like Rohirrim. They were looking for something that was taken. If they don't find it... I think they will want revenge", she answered slowly, frowning as she spoke.

"Is it happening now, or is it about to happen? How many did you see?" he asked, already thinking fast on what her words signified. Men with torches crossing a river could only mean Dunlendings coming over the Isen.

"I'm not sure... it was night, but... no, the moon was fuller. I think it has not yet happened. I couldn't tell how many there were", she said and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, as though she could force herself to see more clearly. But he collected her hands between his own again and rubbed them gently, hoping to ease her distress with his touch.

"Have you seen things about Rohan before now?" he wanted to know.

"Not unless you were there. It's different now... something has changed. I think I'm seeing it because of you – because I've intertwined my life with yours", Lothíriel replied. There were certainly implications in that he wanted to consider when time was more convenient, but now he needed to focus on other matters.

"So you saw a group of hostile men entering the Mark, though it has not yet taken place. How soon do you think it will be?"

"I'm not certain. Perhaps a week or so from now, if I saw the moon correctly. I just felt so dreadful when I came out of it, I had to tell you immediately... what if something bad happens while you're here, away from your people?" she asked him in a low, strained voice.

"Aye, that would be bad indeed", Éomer muttered as he gently led her to a chair nearby and had her sit down. Then he began to pace around the room as he thought of what she had just seen, and how he should react to it. Certainly, he trusted her sight and if Dunlendings had aggressions on his side of the river Isen, there was never a more convenient time than when the King himself was away. The idea of this danger creeping over the river made his skin crawl with apprehension. He wanted to be there, right now. And perhaps if he rode as soon as possible, he could go and meet the men she had seen before they could cause any harm in Westfold.

However, what was he going to say to Éothain, his Riders, and the rest of his company? They would wonder at his sudden whim of riding back to Rohan in haste, especially when he and Lothíriel had been so obviously delighted to see each other again. He didn't want to lie, but neither could he tell his party that his bride was foresighted and she had warned him of trouble in Rohan. It had been his promise to her, to keep the knowledge of her gift to himself.

There were no good alternatives here. If he said and did nothing, then the party she had seen would enter the Mark unchecked, and who knew what damage they were going to do until Erkenbrand stopped them? Westfold could take no more fire and war. And yet, what would his Riders and his advisers make of it when he suddenly decided to race back home without even giving a good reason for it?

Éomer sighed. His first duty was to Rohan and his people; questions could be dealt with later.

He turned to look at his bride, who sat quietly watching him. Her eyes were wide and anxious as she waited for his decision.

"Would you be very disappointed if I left at dawn?" he asked her gently.

"For myself, yes. But you must do your duty. This warning was given to me for a reason and if you did not heed to it, then you wouldn't be the man I know you are", she said in a soft, resigned voice.

He went down on one knee before Lothíriel and took her hands in his own. He kissed them both and closed his eyes, knowing full well that he wouldn't see her again until spring. The thought made him feel helpless and frustrated but at the same time, he knew this was but the first of many times he would have to put Rohan before his love for her.

"I'm sorry. I wish we could have had more time", he said, still holding her hands in his own.

"So do I, but at least we got a couple of nice days before spring. It is not far off now", she consoled him and pressed a kiss on his brow.

"Easy for you to say. You see further ahead than I do", Éomer muttered and raised himself so that he could kiss her properly. But he could not let it go for very long if he meant to make sure he and his Riders could depart at dawn. Elfhelm might stay behind with the lords and ladies of the company; they wouldn't be prepared to travel with haste.

"I should send one of my guards to take you back home", he said to her as he stood up again.

"No, I'd rather stay here and wait for the dawn. I'll just be restless if I go home, and in any case I wish to send you on your way properly", Lothíriel said, shaking her head.

"It's still hours before the dawn, though. It won't be comfortable here... though I suppose my bedchamber is available for the rest of the night", he said, glancing at the half open door of that room. Had the situation been something different, he would have lingered in the idea of her in his bed much longer, but his mind had already shifted into working mode and things needed to get done.

She smiled slightly and rose as well.

"Thank you, dear. If I fall asleep, wake me up before you go", she insisted, touching his wrist for a moment.

"I wouldn't go without saying anything", he reassured her firmly.

When she had closed the door behind her, he began to work. He sent for Éothain, Elfhelm and for Lord Ormar and Lord Wigmund. He would ask the Marshal and the advisers to stay behind, but at any rate they ought to know he was to leave at dawn.

His captain did not keep him waiting for long. Éothain arrived, looking rumpled but alert, and his eyes were bright and keen as though he had not been sleeping at all.

"Is something the matter?" asked the Captain as soon as he was through the door.

Éomer himself was studying a map he had spread on a table nearby, calculating how quickly he and his men could ride, and how many stops on the way they could afford. Lothíriel thought it was at least a week before the men she had seen would cross the Isen.

"Do you trust me, Éothain?" he asked without turning to face his friend.

"With my life, if need be", Éothain replied without hesitation.

"Then I will have to ask that you make no questions about what I'm going to tell you. You must believe I'm saying this for a good reason and you will soon understand why it's necessary", Éomer explained slowly, still not looking at his captain.

"You have my attention", said the Captain, his voice full of barely contained curiosity and perhaps a bit of alarm.

"We need to be ready to ride at dawn. I'll be taking my guard with me, but the rest of the party will stay here. We'll head straight for Edoras, and then to Westfold. We'll have to make haste on the way", Éomer said, finally looking at his friend and watching for his reaction.

Éothain looked at him in surprise and the young king could practically see questions springing to life in his friend's eyes. Before the man could voice any of them, he continued to talk.

"No, it's not because of any offence and no, I have not fallen out with Lady Lothíriel. In that regard everything is perfectly fine. This has to do with the Mark and the well-being of our people", he said quickly.

A frown grew on Éothain's face.

"Has something happened back home, then?" he asked.

"Not yet. And if we hurry, nothing will", Éomer replied. He hated the awkward feeling that had come over him for not being able to tell the plain truth. He and Éothain had never kept secrets from one another, but it was the only way he could do right by his bride.

The Captain regarded him in silence for a long moment. What he truly made of his king's unusual reticence and the abrupt decision to ride back to Rohan did not show on his good-natured face.

At length Éothain let out a sigh.

"Well, you did ask me if I trusted you, and I said yes. I won't say I don't wonder at this command, but you are my king and if you say there's a good reason for this command, then I believe you", he said at length, bowing his head.

Éomer relaxed somewhat at hearing this response. At least his captain was behind his decision, and with Éothain's backing, the men would comply without questions, too.

The rest of the night passed without any sleep for the young king. He met with his Marshal and two advisers, each of whom seemed suspicious at his unexpected decision to ride home, and then had a brief talk with Aragorn. To his fellow king he admitted to expecting some kind of an attack against his people, but he did not reveal where this apprehension came from. Aragorn promised to use his Seeing Stone and look out. Fostered by Lord Elrond in Rivendell of the Elves, he appeared to wonder much less at strange premonitions that came at night. Some food was sent to his rooms as he would not be able to eat breakfast and Aragorn reassured him provisions would be ready for the King's Company before they set to road.

Close to dawn, Éothain left to rouse the men and Éomer's squire arrived to help him with his armour. Thankfully, there had been enough time for the lad to clean and oil the gear after their journey in heavy rain. Still, a sense of resignation grew on him as Guthlaf added one piece after the other, working over the buckles and fastenings with practised speed. All too soon his squire was finished and outside, the world was grey in the moment before dawn.

Éomer sighed and knew he had to get moving. Horses and men would be ready soon and haste was needed. Quietly – well, as quietly as he could in full armour – he made his way to the bedchamber.

Lothíriel had curled up in the bed and she looked unbearably sweet as she dozed off there. When she raised her head, there was a sleepy look in her eyes before it passed.

"Dawn is near and we are to leave soon", he said, for what else was there? With a heavy heart, he picked up his saddlebag and collected what few things he had left around; usually while travelling, he kept most of his belongings inside the bags, because one never knew when need arose for a hasty departure. His years as a Rider had taught him to be always as ready as possible to ride at short notice.

"Very well", said she as she sat up on the bed and watched him move around in the room. When his saddlebag was ready, he turned to look at her again.

She reached her hand for him and said, "Come here."

He took her hand and went to his bride, letting her pull him to sit down next to her. Now looking at her properly, an ache grew in his chest, and frustration for knowing how long he would have to wait for this precious woman. _It's just months. Just months. You've done this before, you can do it again._

"Stay safe on your road", she said softly as she cradled his hand between her own, her slender fingers tracing invisible paths on his calloused swordsman's fist.

"Any insight on that regard?" he asked her wryly, at which she smiled.

"I think you will be fine. But remember, even I don't know everything", Lothíriel reminded him.

"You don't? But I'm so often told that women know everything", he murmured before pressing his free hand against the back of her neck and pulling her into a kiss. She breathed a gasp against his mouth and surrendered instantly.

It went on so for a while, and for a moment he forgot all about the journey ahead. Then suddenly she moved and in a swift motion, she positioned herself astride in his lap. A low, deep growl escaped from his throat before he even knew it, but the sound vanished as soon as she caught his lips again with her own

He almost forgot himself right there, for he had never wanted her quite as painfully as he did then. She was soft and supple against his hands, which roamed boldly across her body, and as seconds passed he grew more and more uncomfortable in his gear. A fierce desire rose within, urging him to tear off the bits and pieces of armour that Guthlaf had so meticulously fastened on him – to get closer to her. And she was not helping at all, what with the way she pressed herself so close to him, and nipped at his lower lip, and the sounds of her little sighs against his skin... it was getting next to impossible to recall why he should hold back.

But of course such a moment could not continue endlessly. Somebody knocked at the door, and then Éothain's voice called through: "Éomer? Are you ready? The men are standing by."

Éomer and Lothíriel broke apart as though a pair of children caught doing something forbidden. Both were breathing heavily at this point, and he wondered if her heart was pounding the same way as his. He stared at her, and she stared straight back. She did not look at him like some ravished maiden would. Rather, her gaze was bold, like that of a woman who knows her desire and is not ashamed to show it. Dizzily he thought of the time back in Dol Amroth and the stolen kisses in the night; how wary and cautious she had been, and how worried about being discovered. It was as if she had been transformed.

"We should probably stop, before your captain comes and throws me out", she said, having regained her voice before he did. She made no move to remove herself from his lap, though.

"Aye", he agreed hoarsely, hands still firmly against her hips. Those marvellous curves just beneath his palms... for a moment, he considered they just might need some manhandling from Éothain to be able to leave this situation.

She shifted, trying to get up on her feet, but he held on tight to her still. Lothíriel smiled and took support of his shoulders.

"Éomer? Are you all right in there?" Éothain asked loudly from behind the door.

No, he was not all right, but what choice did he have? With a groan, he allowed her to leave his lap.

"Just a minute", he said to his captain as he hauled himself into a standing position. The clothes against his skin felt hot and itchy, too tight in certain parts, and he felt a bit disoriented. But his bride was less addled. He was still trying to get his bearings when she was already lifting up his saddlebags and offering them to him.

When he received the bags from her, she smiled slyly and said, "You know, there is something about kissing a man in armour. I hadn't realised that before now."

A violent shiver went down his spine and straight into the pit of his stomach.

"Well, I'm glad to be one to help you grasp it", he said in a low, hoarse voice. "But the next time we do this, I hope there's much less between us."

Now he spied a faint blush on her cheeks.

"I will not say another word, lest your captain barges in and accuses me of holding you back with my flirtations", she told him firmly.

"Probably a good idea", he agreed, because the longer this went on, the harder it became to leave. And he should be on his way by now: light was growing outside.

Éomer took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts. He had a long day ahead of himself and delaying wouldn't change that fact. As painfully lovely and tempting as she was, he had to take his leave of her.

"Come with me outside? I want to make it absolutely clear I'm not leaving like this because of you. Or, at least not because of you in the sense that they might expect", he said, giving her a lopsided smile.

She nodded quietly and followed him outside. Éothain raised an eyebrow when he saw them emerge together, but said nothing. Éomer cast him a steady look, though he knew his captain would not utter a word of it.

"Shall we get going?" asked the young king nonchalantly, and without a word, Éothain handed him his helmet and his cloak.

They made their way outside. The hour was still so early, the only people they met on the way were guards of the Citadel. Lothíriel moved so silently that Éomer actually wondered if anybody paid heed to her at all. Maybe that was why she was so good at going where she pleased unnoticed.

The eastern sky was growing pink when Éomer came outside. Yet the hour was still and quiet and he shivered to think he too should be in bed right this moment. But the road awaited and that was an unchangeable fact.

His Riders were expecting him just outside the Citadel. Briefly he studied some of their faces, but none seemed terribly suspicious or surprised; if their king wanted to ride in haste at dawn, then that would be, and they made no questions about it. Not a few of them glanced at Lothíriel, though, and probably wondered how she was here at such an hour.

Before turning to her, Éomer faced one of the guards of the Citadel.

"Once my company and I have departed, will you make sure the lady finds her way safely back home?" he asked the guard, who immediately bowed his head.

"Absolutely, my lord", he promised.

Satisfied with the response, Éomer now turned to look at his bride. She had followed him silently as a shadow and her eyes were wide and serious as she now regarded him. Yet the distress of when she had first come to his rooms to warn him was utterly gone. She knew he was up to the task and had nothing more to worry about; her faith in the future, although she said even she didn't utterly know it, was strange and inspiring at the same time.

"I shall see you in spring", he said to her, though it sounded wrong to him; there were a thousand things he ought to say, but only this he could speak out loud.

A slight smile lit her features.

"I know", said Lothíriel gently. She raised her hand and pressed it against his cheek, and in her eyes were all the unsaid things his own heart held that moment.

So he pulled her tight to him and kissed her, hard and urgent, thinking of spring and that bright, green day she would finally be his own. At the end of it, he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Do you see it?" he asked quietly.

"Glimpses, maybe", she whispered back.

"Will you tell me about it?"

She smiled.

"What would be the fun in that?" she asked back.

He grumbled under his breath and kissed her one more time. Then he took one more breath of her hair and turned away, seeking Firefoot with his eyes. Thankfully his stallion was waiting close by. He had delayed the departure long enough.

Éomer mounted his horse and cast one more look at Lothíriel. She stood still and quiet, but she smiled at him, and that was the image he took with him when he finally left the White City behind.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Here is an update! As you know, this was actually supposed to be a part of last chapter, hence the rather speedy update this time. As you can see, a split was very much necessary.

All the same, I did enjoy writing the scenes in this chapter, particularly Éomer's troubled thoughts on how to react to Lothíriel's warning. Certainly, he trusts her to tell the truth, but it's also difficult to explain to his own people why he suddenly wants to ride out.

On the other hand, it was also nice to write him and her being sweet and tender between one another, even if he had to leave at such a short notice - but also the more sensual side of their relationship, which is definitely developing nicely and making certain someone very frustrated. ;)

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments are always most appreciated. :)

* * *

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Thank you!

**Simplegurl4u - **Thanks! I think they both are indeed straightforward in that regard, and don't care so much for ceremony, especially when it comes to one another.

I'm sure neither of them would have minded her making an appearance for his bath!

**Mary07 - **You guessed right! Hope you like it!

**fantasticferret - **Thank you! I rather enjoyed writing about these other Rohirric characters, too, and I'm sure they will be seen again in future. :)

**Boramir - **Thanks! You write down some very interesting thoughts. Éomer probably does have a keen finger on the pulse of the people, if you get what I mean - and it appears he's not the only one keeping eye on events in Rohan!

I think you're probably right about his support among his people. His loyalty and sense of duty to Rohan, his parentage and position even before the war, and emerging alive and victorious from it, would probably make him a popular king from the start. But whether his rule (and Lothíriel) shall be threatened by any sinister plans, we'll see!

**sailor68 -** Thank you! I'm trying to get there, but so much seems to be going on before it! I promise we'll see the wedding soon enough.

**EStrunk - **Thanks! I think he's definitely starting to learn to cover for her and navigate situations involving her sight, although he maybe doesn't realise yet he's doing it. It's been interesting in this story to explore his involvement with statecraft and kingship.

**PilotDante - **I hope you continue to enjoy the story! I can definitely promise there's a lot more to come yet. :)

**Jo - **:)

**sai19 - **Thank you! I seem to have so much to say in this story, it's good to hear it's nevertheless flowing well!


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The King's Company rode back to the Mark in great haste, though not quite with that sense of doom and death which had driven the Muster of Rohan to the battle of Pelennor fields. Yet the men knew well enough something was amiss, even if Éomer had not yet revealed them the reason for this urgency. He could tell Éothain wondered much and often, but the Captain asked no questions. Nor would he, Éomer expected: when asking his friend whether he trusted him, the young king had invoked something very sacred between brothers in arms and best of friends.

As they made their way from dawn till dusk, and at times in autumn rains, Éomer thought much of his bride back in Mundburg. No doubt she and her father would stay a few more days, meet with his advisers and finalise the marriage contracts. Perhaps she would be getting to know Freola; he was one of the older Riders of the King's Company and Éomer was aware the man had been thinking of retiring from active duty. He was an even-tempered, steadfast man with a couple of nearly full-grown daughters of his own. Éomer felt he was most likely of all his men to get along with Lothíriel.

He also thought of why she had sent him on this road. He raked his brain, trying to assess where the Dunlending party were likely to cross the river, and if this was a sign of some greater aggression on their side. Things had been quiet at the western border since the war had ended and he had not particularly expected any trouble on that front. However, she had said this war party was looking for something which had been taken. But what could it possibly be? Rohirrim had not crossed Isen during the short while Éomer had been king, and as far as he knew, Théoden had not approved of such ventures either. Before and during the Ring War, Rohirrim had too much to deal with in their own land to go marauding in Dunland. If somebody in Rohan was trying to start trouble with Dunlendings, then his response would have to be stern and swift.

However it would turn out, there was still a long way between him and Westfold. So he pushed himself, the men and the horses as much as possible, feeling that knot of concern grow ever tighter as the days passed. Normally when riding to or from Mundburg, he would stop at the villages on the way, meet with people and perhaps spend a night here or there to show his interest in the lives of common folk of the land. This time, he sped by most of the settlements, only stopping to give the men and the horses a chance to catch their breath and a night's rest.

Éomer and his company reached Edoras just shy of a week after he had left Mundburg. His return was not expected at this time and he saw surprise on many faces while passing through the capital. But explanations would have to wait. Perhaps once he had dealt with the Dunlending war party, people would forget to wonder about his sudden return.

Leofrun's face reflected that same wonder as she came to meet him with the cup of welcome. He drained the cup quickly before muttering in a low voice to her, "I know, I shouldn't be at home yet. It's not because of something that happened in Stoningland. I hurried back because there's a reason to expect unrest at our western border."

Her eyes were wide and grave as she received the cup from him.

"Is it very serious, Sire?" Leofrun asked quietly, instantly trusting his word. Thank Béma he was blessed with so many faithful men and women.

"I don't know yet. Will you make sure my men get a hot meal? They have ridden hard for my sake and I would see them tended to accordingly", he said to her and she nodded emphatically. Éomer continued, "I will be leaving again at dawn. Éothain is to marshal fresh men and horses for the road and provisions will be needed."

"Very well, Sire. Your Riders will be looked after and I shall make sure provisions are ready for when you ride out again", she promised and swept away at once when he had dismissed her.

Rest of the evening passed in preparations and talks with those of his advisers who were present in Edoras at the time. They seemed similarly suspicious about his sudden arrival, but they were also curious to learn how things had gone in the White City. This allowed Éomer to redirect their focus on the issue he did not have to lie about. Perhaps they assumed some secret messages had come to Aragorn which then had sent Éomer racing back home; certainly, King Elessar had a legendary enough reputation for it.

All the same, it was late when he finally entered his own bedchamber to catch a few hours of sleep before yet another long ride. Éomer let out a heavy sigh as he leaned his back against the door and rubbed his face. Somehow he felt the wear of many long days in the saddle more inside his head than in his limbs, though that was not to say he wasn't tired physically. Once this was over and dealt with, he would sleep at least for a week.

But as much as his body yearned for rest, he didn't head straight to bed. Instead, he picked up his writing easel, some pieces of parchment, and began to compose a letter for Lothíriel. Her handkerchief, gifted to him by her in Dol Amroth at the end of his visit, was never far from his hand.

It was over an hour later that he finally sealed the letter and made his way to bed.

* * *

At dawn Éomer rode forth once more. This time he mounted his secondary steed Flamefoal, a young warhorse not yet as trusty or skilled as Firefoot, but he was getting there. Firefoot had earned some rest after the long ride, though as always stable-hands needed to make sure he didn't realise his master was riding out again, and with another steed. The stallion could be surprisingly jealous about his rider.

The morning was the coldest one yet and the eastern sky was just growing pink when his company left Edoras behind. When the sun began to rise, Éomer could see frost glimmering on tall grass. As much as possible, Éothain had chosen fresh riders with unwearied horses. If they were going to have to do battle with Dunlendings, the young king did not wish to go into it with tired men at his side. He would be sending a rider to summon Erkenbrand, but even with the aid of Marshal of the West-Mark, Éomer did not want a single man to lose their lives because they were weary before even entering battle. Naturally, he hoped it wouldn't come to it, but as of now he had no idea of what to expect.

They rode late into the evening and made camp, although Éomer felt more anxious than ever and would have liked to carry on. But he knew it would be unwise for more than just one reason, and so kept the urge to race into the night at bay. Yet he could not stop himself from pacing at the edge of the camp, gazing into the west and hoping for morning before he too settled down on his bedroll.

At dawn they rode again – another long day that was both restless and tedious as the journey continued, and still without a sign whether this was a wild-goose chase or not. Éothain's faith in him still did not falter. It was partly from that unchanging trust that Éomer was able to will himself into going again, although he was feeling the wear of the road more than he had yesterday. He thought of Lothíriel, too. She would not have sent him on this road in vain.

It was that very day that something finally happened. At midday, Éomer spied a rider coming in haste from the west.

"Sire, a rider", Éothain said as he too peered into the horizon.

"Aye. I wonder what event has him hurrying so", Éomer muttered, although he certainly had his suspicions.

"Perhaps the very same thing we are here?" his Captain voiced Éomer's own thoughts.

"We'll see", said the young king and gave a sign to slow down.

The rider had noticed the King's Company as well and was now hurrying to meet them. Once he was at shouting distance, he called out urgently, "Is it truly you, Éomer King? Are my eyes deceiving me?"

"No, you see truly, Rider. What brings you here?" Éomer asked back.

The man shifted in his saddle, relaxing visibly and smiling at his liege-lord.

"This is better news than I dared to hope for, Sire. We thought you were away in Gondor", he said, bowing his head briefly. Then he cleared his throat and continued, "Marshal Erkenbrand got word late last night that a scout had seen a group of Dunlendings crossing the Isen into the Mark. Before he rode out to investigate this matter, I was sent to ask for reinforcements in Edoras, and for the royal council's instructions in your absence, my lord. Marshal Erkenbrand is troubled by this sighting and he fears these Dunlendings have ill intentions."

Something unclenched in Éomer's breast at hearing all this. Lothíriel had seen it as it was, and sent him in the nick of time on this road. But there was a wave of tenderness for her, too. She was not even his wife yet, and already she fought to protect Rohan.

"Aye, that concerns me as well. How many were seen crossing the river?" Éomer wanted to know.

"Around thirty, Sire, but Erkenbrand is worried more are lying in wait beyond the river and expecting some kind of a sign. That is also why he hoped for reinforcements", said the rider.

"Very well. My arrival should even the odds, but you should still ride back to Edoras and ask my lieutenant there to prepare an éored ready to aid. Though I hope this can be resolved without bloodshed", Éomer said.

The messenger nodded and grinned.

"It's good that you're here, Sire. These Dunlendings will reconsider their course of action once they realise they're facing Éomer King himself", he said, and the young king tried not to smile. He was well aware many of the professional riders loved him as their hero who could do no wrong. At times, it was a great honour. At others, he felt it as a burden and a duty. A hero's reputation was easy to lose and the fall from the top could be long and hard.

"Let us hope they are so easily persuaded", said Éomer before farewells were exchanged and his party rode forth again.

Once they were on the move, Éothain steered his horse close to his king's. His look was unusual, as though he had just witnessed something that was hard to believe.

"How did you know?" Éothain asked him quietly. His meaning was easy to guess. The man had put together two and two and knew that somehow, Éomer had expected these very news back in Mundburg.

Éomer let out a sigh.

"Believe me when I say I would tell you if I could. It's not because I don't trust you – you know I trust few men as much as you. But in this matter I'm not at liberty to speak openly, even to you. I'm not sure you would believe me if I did", he said gravely, resenting this dishonest feeling that came to him. However, he had promised Lothíriel, and while he didn't think Éothain was a kind of man to try and benefit from her sight, it was not his secret to share.

The Captain was frowning and looking dissatisfied, but he must have recognised the gravity Éomer spoke with, and also that there was indeed a good reaason behind it. Éothain said no more, but the young king had no doubt he didn't cease wondering about the matter. Whether he realised there was a connection between these events and Lothíriel being in her bridegroom's room in the middle of night, Éomer could not say.

"Was it Aragorn and that Seeing Stone of his?" Éothain asked abruptly. Éomer much wanted to confirm it, as the mysterious nature of those Elven devices was quite unclear; it would be the perfect excuse. But he could not lie to his friend.

"I cannot confirm or deny, although it's true the eyes of the White Tower reach far", he said at length, not meeting the face of his friend. Éothain asked no more, but Éomer expected he would make his own assumptions all the same.

Though he was not glad he couldn't be entirely honest with his friend and captain, otherwise Éomer felt determined and purposeful once more. The messenger had confirmed Lothíriel had indeed spoken true, and he had been right to race back home in haste. Now he was able to deal with the issue of Dunlendings himself and hopefully put out the fire before it had a chance of growing into something serious.

He thought again of what she had said to him that night: these men were looking for something that had been taken and would desire revenge if it was not found. Did it mean they could be reasoned with? He hoped so, at least. Dunlendings were not a wealthy folk, so it was unlikely they were after stolen goods. It was a desperate attempt, if the company consisted of just thirty men; they were looking for something of personal importance, or so Éomer guessed as he mulled over the matter.

Next day his company finally started to close in on the western border of Rohan. Before they did, they began to meet Erkenbrand's outriders who were surprised and glad to see the King himself coming to aid. They pointed him at the Marshal's way, and so it was by early afternoon that Éomer found his friend and lieutenant in the task of trying to contain the threat. With Erkenbrand was his daughter Alfwen, a formidable Shieldmaiden in the making, and some said of all his children she was the one who should one day follow in his steps as a Marshal of the Mark. No wonder, for she had stood on the walls of Helm's Deep and endured the attack of the Isengard unbowed. She had inherited her father's height and was a woman of mighty presence even among Eorlingas.

Erkenbrand was similarly surprised that the King himself had flown across all the distance between Mundburg and Westfold and was here at this time, relieving as it may be.

"Béma himself must have sent you", said the Marshal as he greeted his king and enveloped him in a huge bear-hug, but Éomer thought to himself, _Not Béma, but your future queen. _Even so, the threat at hand was urgent enough Erkenbrand didn't ask many questions. Tension was high especially among those Riders who had kin in Westfold: the wounds left by the Ring War were barely closed.

Erkenbrand's outriders had located the group of Dunlendings, but now with the King's Company added to the numbers, they had enough men not only to guard the border in case more Dunlendings were preparing to enter the Mark but also to surround the war party and herd them in. This was Éomer's express wish. He did not want battle, but rather wished to find out what had brought the Dunlendings here. If possible, he wanted to drive them into such a position where they would have no choice but to surrender and negotiate. Éomer could tell there were a few among the company who would rather prefer a full attack, but to these he gave stern looks. The land had seen enough of bloodshed and his first act as a king towards the Dunlendings was not going to be hateful.

Over the course of that day and the next, their nets gradually closed in around the Dunlending party as riders in pairs rode closer and closer to them – never quite in the reach of a bow they were sure to carry, but near enough to unnerve them and drive the group into the desired direction. On the open fields a war party on foot was no match to trained Rohirric Riders. Eventually, they had no choice but to retreat into a small ravine like a small animal to a hunter's snare.

Receiving word from the outriders that the Dunlendings were now securely in their trap, Éomer halted to negotiate with Erkenbrand and Éothain on how to proceed. Alfwen stood close by her father, being the second captain of his éored in all but name.

"What do you wish to do, Sire? Are we to put the fear of Béma in that lot?" asked Erkenbrand in a quiet voice that held a fierce timbre. Alfwen's look implied she very much agreed with her father. While his age had lent Erkenbrand wisdom and patience, the many griefs and losses of the West-Mark were heavy in his heart and mind. Same was true for his daughter.

"I would like to know what they are doing here and what their purpose is. Let us talk to them first", Éomer replied There was something about the affair that made him feel uncomfortable and he wanted to know why that was. And after all these years, he knew when to trust his instinct.

Erkenbrand still looked like he would rather have let his sword talk, but Éothain merely nodded and turned to relay the orders to the King's Riders.

Éomer chose ten of his most trusted men in addition to himself, his captain and the Marshal with his daughter. To all of them he spoke gravely before entering the ravine, meeting their eyes and speaking with a strong, even voice.

"We will give these men a chance to explain themselves. I will not have any man's blood spilled today, if it can be avoided. All of you are to stand ready, but there will be no violence except by my express command. Is this clear?" he asked them, and was answered with _Aye, lord!_

With that, Éomer turned Flamefoal around and began to approach the mouth of the ravine. Erkenbrand and Éothain covered his flanks, the Marshal carrying a tall spear and the Captain holding the royal standard of the Riddermark in his hand. Alfwen followed closely, carrying a light Rohirric bow in her hand. The Dunlendings would have no uncertainty of who they were dealing with today. He rode slowly in the highest state of alertness, ready to spring in action. He knew the land around the ravine was teeming with horsemen ready to rain fire and brimstone on the Dunlendings, but it only took a single arrow to put an end to even the most illustrious warrior. And he had a bride waiting for him and an entire life he wanted to yet live.

It hit him as he rode into the ravine, how much he truly hungered for life – how much he wanted to share it with Lothíriel. It was a curious thing. On one hand, it didn't seem like much of a realisation, and yet on the other it nearly made him dizzy. For until this point, the chief meaning of his existence had been the duty for his king and for Rohan; Éomer the man was merely a tool to protect these things. It still was a significant part of him. However, the moment _she_ had entered his life, she had opened some doors he had not known of, and he could see other things of value in why he had been put on this Arda.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. Then only seconds later, he saw the group of Dunlendings clustered together, spears and bows at the ready. Judging by their miscellaneous weapons and armours put together from what looked like scavenged scraps of old gear, they were not some elite company of warriors. They regarded the King and his company in hostile suspicion, but Éomer lifted his hand in a gesture for peace.

"Men of Dunland, what do you seek in the Riddermark?" he asked in a loud, steady voice.

There was some muttering inside the group, until one of them answered.

"We have come for those that were taken. You have kept our wives and daughters from us long enough, and if you will not return them freely, then we shall bring them home by our steel and wrath", said the man in the front of the group. He looked no more polished than the rest of them, but there was something about his demeanour that made Éomer feel like he was their leader.

For a moment he marvelled at these words. Then his heart fell, for he guessed their meaning all too easily. Saruman's quarrel with Rohan had not started with a full invasion: before it he had long built his army in secret, and not just by gathering orcs to his command. With his army there had marched creatures that were neither full orcs or men, and this was finally the answer to the question why at times before the war women and girls of Westfold had gone missing, never to be seen again among Men. He had no doubt the same thing had happened on the other side of the river.

"You are not going to find your missing womenfolk in Rohan, stranger. Did not our messages reach your elders? Saruman was the one who took your people, not us", Éomer answered steadily, though his heart was heavy in his breast. The wizard's crimes against Rohan and all Free Men were many, but this thing was among the most horrifying of his deeds. At times the thought still haunted him and made him regret that the wizard had so easily escaped justice. Word had come out of the Shire that Saruman had perished in the very aftermath of the Ring War, and so had Wormtongue, but there were moments when Éomer could not help but ask himself if he could have done something more_. _

"You lie, horsemaster! We are not such fools as our elders to believe such an atrocious thing. Rather we think our women are here in your land, serving as your slaves. The straw-heads have never loved our people", said the leader of the Dunlendings, which earned him some agreeing mutters among his group, and many growls and exclamations of anger from the Rohirrim within earshot. Some of Éomer's Riders shifted anxiously and muttered in outrage at the way their king was so disrespected, but he lifted his hand as a sign for them to stand still.

As for himself, he quickly dismounted and took a couple of steps forward. Erkenbrand and Éothain followed suit, shields ready at hand to raise for his protection. But the young king himself stood with his hands empty.

"These are no lies, stranger. I have been to Isengard myself and though no survivors were discovered, there was enough evidence to acknowledge what had happened. Don't think womenfolk never went missing in the Mark, or that they aren't sorely missed. It grieves me more than you know, and yet I wonder if finding no one living was the one small mercy our women and yours were given", he replied gravely, meeting the eyes of the Dunlending leader without faltering. Then in a stronger voice he continued, "As for your accusations, they are simply false. In Rohan every man, woman and child is free. Even though my people and yours have more often been enemies than not, we would never take one of yours as slaves. That is what orcs do, not Free Men. Remember, there has often been strife between our people, but never did Rohirrim cross the river to your lands, and wives and daughters only began to vanish when orcs were prowling and Saruman grew hungry with the thought of dominion of living things."

There was a heavy silence in the ravine. All eyes were fixed on the King of Rohan and the spokesman of the Dunlending war party, but Éomer himself paid no heed to any but the man he was talking to. Keenly he studied the weathered face and saw the lines care and grief had carved there. Who had he lost to that great storm which had destroyed and upended so many lives? Even now a feverish hope lived in his dark brown eyes that maybe what the elders of his tribe had told him wasn't true – maybe his loved one was still living somewhere in bondage, and he could free her. It was easier to believe some story about Rohirrim taking slaves rather than to accept the horrifying truth. All this Éomer could sympathise with very much. He knew what it was to miss someone who wasn't going to return and to feel like pieces of himself were lost.

"You are welcome to visit Isengard if you so desire, though I'm afraid most signs of Saruman's crimes have long since been destroyed. But Treebeard himself, the chief of Shepherds of Trees, will doubtless tell you everything that was uncovered. He has no reason to lie on the behalf of any Man", Éomer said then in a softer voice than he had until now.

And whether it was his word, or simply his tone, but something seemed to get through to the angry men before him. Some lowered their bows and returned arrows back to quivers. Others simply stood in a quiet stun, perhaps at last coming to grips with their loss.

But still their leader stared at Éomer.

"Then what are we to tell our kin? To the people whose families shall never be whole again? What are we to do?" he asked, still trying to sound fierce and angry, though there was a crack in his voice.

"What can anyone do?" Éomer asked back. "We repair and heal where we can, and honour our dead to the best of our ability."

And once those words left his mouth and he took in the faces before him, he knew there would be no bloodshed today.

* * *

It seemed that after the exchange between the King of Rohan and the Dunlending leader all fight was taken from the war party. Quietly they agreed to be escorted back to the western border by Marshal Erkenbrand's company, and they began the long and bitter journey home before afternoon was ended. Éomer did not think it necessary for the whole company of Rohirrim to ride with them. For one, he sensed no more danger from these grieving men, and on the other hand, he wanted to make a show of good faith by not treating them with prejudice and suspicion.

But before this company set out, some talks were had between the King and his lieutenants. There was still wonder at his arrival in the very moment when he was most needed, but more than that there was relief over the way this threat had been been dealt with. Éomer gave no explanations as to how he had known to speed home so conveniently and left more to the guessing of his men. Best he could gather, they assumed Aragorn was somehow involved.

With his own guard, Éomer now rode for the Hornburg. Some of his company had been travelling with him from Mundburg and were in the sore need of some rest. For that last stretch of the journey, they rode with perhaps more speed than was strictly necessary. All were eager to get some food, shelter and sleep.

They reached the fortress just in time for supper, though before letting his men go and relax, Éomer gave them some words of praise and gratitude for coming all this way with him and having faith until the end.

It was Éothain who put their thoughts to words.

"We are proud to serve you, Sire. Today we saw you stand taller than ever before. For any son of Eorl, it is an honour to follow such a king", he said emphatically, and though they exchanged no words on the matter, Éomer felt that his captain's faith had been rewarded. As much he had wondered about his king's decision, today's events had made his questions unneeded.

As for himself, Éothain's quiet words made him feel like today he had won something more than just peace inside the borders of Rohan. All thanks to _her_: who knew what could have happened, if he had not made it in time? He did not doubt Erkenbrand's ability of keeping their people safe, but could anyone have reassured the Dunlendings and kept peace with them today except for the King of Rohan himself?

Now that the threat had been dealt with, the young king finally started to feel the wear of last week settle in. He partook in the supper at the great hall of Hornburg, but he retired as soon as he had eaten. Meanwhile, a bath had been prepared for him. Going straight to bed was a tempting thought, but on the other hand, he had not felt completely warm since leaving Edoras and some tension still remained in his stiff muscles. So it was with no small amount of relief and pleasure that he sank into a tub filled with steaming hot water. A sigh he had not noticed holding finally worked its way out.

As he lay there chin-deep in water, he fell to a kind of waking dream. He imagined Lothíriel making her way to the side of the tub, smiling as she came, and surrounded by the soft glow of candles. Lightly she took a seat on the edge of the tub. And then he felt like hearing her very voice.

_Did you find them, the men I saw?_ she seemed to be asking him softly.

_Aye_, he replied and gave her a lazy grin. _Now, hurry up and get in this bath with me. _

But she just smiled that enigmatic smile of hers and said no more. He shook his head and realised she had never been here, except in his imagination. He sighed heavily. Spring had never felt more far away than it did now.

After the bath, he exchanged a few words with his guards. He told them not to disturb him during the night, unless the fortress was on fire – an unlikely scenario, except if a dragon attacked.

Once he had finally collapsed in the bed, he passed out in a matter of minutes.

* * *

For a while, little else was spoken of in Edoras except for the matter of the Dunlending war party. There was relief over the peaceful solution, but also some apprehension: the western border had been quiet since the Ring War had ended and nobody wanted to disturb that peace. Éomer himself was fairly sure the incident was an isolated event and would not lead to more aggressions, but he understood his people's concerns and sent orders to Erkenbrand to have the borderlands patrolled more frequently.

Though he did not think it was deserved, he received a fair amount of praise over his handling of the issue. The fact remained, he had only been able to defuse the Dunlendings' hostility because Lothíriel had sent him home in time; his convenient arrival was not due to his own miraculously keen instinct or some obscure connection of Aragorn's. Yet while Éomer felt uneasy over the undeserved praise and would rather have corrected it, he knew he could not. Lothíriel's part in these events was to remain hidden.

It troubled him enough that he had to write her about it. So he told her how he felt like he was undeservingly basking in the glory that belonged to her. Her response was as calm and level-headed as ever: _"Am I not your wife to be, Éomer? Is it not my task to aid and support you, not only as your consort but also as your queen? If this is true, then my glory should add to yours, and to the House of Eorl. What you did was no no small thing. Others might have punished these miserable men and deepened their suffering, but you faced them like a king and offered them peace and conciliation. There is a glory in that, too, and you earned it with your own actions independent of mine."_

Her words reassured him and silenced his doubts. Yet the letter also filled him with wonder. If she already had such wisdom at her young age, what kind of a queen would she make in decades to come?

Eventually, Lord Ormar and Lord Wigmund along with the rest of the company returned from Mundburg. They brought with them the finalised marriage contracts and a couple of letters from Lothíriel. It seemed both men were satisfied with how the negotiations had gone – Wigmund probably even thought it was good Éomer himself had not been present for it. Ormar too, if he recalled Éomer's comment of being willing to have her with nothing but the clothes on her back. Turned out she would come with much more than that thanks to Wigmund's haggling, though the young king was more pleased to hear Ormar saying that his bride was "simply charming". Even without her bridegroom's presence, Lothíriel had kept the company entertained and happy.

Autumn now advanced, moving closer to winter. Life went on as usual in Edoras and all of Rohan, and there was peace at the western border again.

Then one night a heavy storm came and by the morning, the capital and lands around it were covered in snow. Winter that year turned out to be longer and colder than normally, and while snowbanks grew higher, days went by slowly and uneventfully. During this time it seemed that the royal council's chief amusement was having long, tedious debates that made Éomer want to throw the whole lot out in the snow. He couldn't even expect the relief of Lothíriel's letters, for travel was next to impossible while the weather continued. He expected his messengers had been wise enough to shelter either in Mundburg or with Éowyn and Faramir until the snows melted.

Yuletide came at last, breaking the dull march of cold days, though celebrations were somewhat smaller than usual. This year most Rohirrim were sheltering from the weather in their homes instead of coming to the capital for the winter market and the great feast in the honour of the sun's rebirth. For Éomer, it also meant a turning point towards spring and the day he was so anxiously expecting.

But as he watched his people laughing, dancing and drinking and simply enjoying themselves, he also contemplated something rather overwhelming: he had now been the King of Rohan for over one and a half years. He had managed this enormous and sometimes thankless job for this long without everything falling apart. When he had first returned from the Ring War, it had seemed that even getting through one week would be a stupendous achievement. Yet here he was, nothing was on fire, and nobody was dead.

Perhaps for the first time, Éomer felt some confidence with the idea that he might be able to do this, after all.

After Yuletide, the weather mellowed at last and snow began to melt. Every day, Éomer looked hopefully to the plains, assessing whether he could yet go for a long, brisk ride. He hoped it was possible sooner rather than later, as the royal stables were full of spirited warhorses that had mostly been standing about since the snows had come and surrounded the capital. He had no desire to watch one of them tear down the stables. Even so, he could well relate – he too was starting to feel like climbing walls.

Leofrun's rampage now became something else. She and her acolytes haunted the premises of Golden Hall like a band of madwomen, wielding brooms and buckets and constantly sending out mighty clouds of dust from every nook and cranny. Every now and then one might pass by Leofrun and hear her muttering to herself, complaining at the state of King's own home, and grousing at everyone who would listen that this was what you got when kings had no queens for decades. At times the hall itself was a veritable no-go area, unless one wanted to be chased out, or maybe get recruited to the cleaning crew. The King himself was not safe from Leofrun's iron rule: more than once his height was exploited by her, as for example when she commanded him to stand next to a ladder and receive an ancient hanging from the wall into his hands, all the while being scolded and instructed on how to handle the fragile fabric. Leofrun and her helpers came up with the most imaginative contraptions to be able to even clean the high rafters of the hall, sending down a decade's worth of dust and one seriously lost and very distressed bat. How the creature had got there, or found it a comfortable place for a nest, nobody could tell.

"Maybe it was Wormtongue's pet", said Éothain, which theory was quickly accepted by everybody in Meduseld.

So the snows melted, winter slugged towards spring, and Meduseld remained a madhouse. The Queen's rooms were prepared once more for an inhabitant: they were scrubbed and aired, a new mattress for the bed was produced, and creamy pillows, soft blankets and sleeping furs were prepared. Hangings and carpets were brought in to make the space look more homely, though Leofrun insisted these would be switched if the Queen so wished, or if she herself brought such things from Dol Amroth. Somebody found a beautifully carved vanity in the storage and after it had been cleaned and polished, it was brought into the Queen's bedroom. For so long, the Queen's rooms had been a dismal, dreary space, empty and unlived for so many years. Now the very promise of Lothíriel's coming had brought a breath of life into these rooms.

Meanwhile, Éomer was aware that on top of this all his steward Deormod and Leofrun were also having a scribe draw up orders for the wedding feast and for feeding the guests, and foodstuffs not liable to spoil quickly were already being delivered to Meduseld's storehouses. To feed all the mouths that would gather around the tables of the Golden Hall would be a massive endeavour.

Slowly but surely it began to look like all this maddening ruckus was indeed leading to some kind of an end result. Even the impatient and anxious bridegroom himself started to believe the day he had so long waited for might arrive at last – though he still studied the plains each morning, willing the days to pass faster and the spring to progress sooner. As if there was not enough to do with the wedding, the foaling season came near as well, even if he had to admit he was glad for the distraction and at times long nights in the stables as mares brought a new generation of Rohirric horses to being.

As the roads cleared once more, so came her letters again. In Dol Amroth, days were no less quiet than in Edoras: a bridal escort for the future Queen of Rohan was no small issue. At times, Lothíriel seemed to be quite exasperated with all of it. Judging by her words, her own greatest concern was how she would transport some choice seedlings with her all the way to Rohan without them dying on the way. She wrote rather fondly of Freola, who had stayed in Dol Amroth through winter, teaching her the language and ways of the Mark. Éomer was glad to learn they had got along so well.

It was clear she was not leaving Dol Amroth behind without some nostalgia. She wrote to him: _"I find myself saying goodbye to old familiar places and giving them up, even though I know I will see them again in future – __and perhaps with my other sight, too__. I admit it's bittersweet: these shores and woods have framed all my life until now, and I feel like I know every tree and rock by name. It's exciting and a little bit frightening to think of exchanging all this to your great plains and proud mountains. I try to imagine Rohan in my mind, as I've seen in glimpses thanks to my gift, and as Freola describes it. I wonder, will it feel like walking in a dream?"_

But then her letter took a lighter tone, reassuring him wistfulness only impacted her occasionally, and certainly not to a degree to make her second-guess anything.

When her letters ceased for a while, Éomer knew the date had come: she and her family had left Dol Amroth at last, travelling north to Mundburg even if it were at a snail's pace. His own anxiety rose to new heights. It was difficult to pay attention to business of the realm, much to the desperation of his advisers; soon enough he began to suspect they had eased his workload as much as they could, tending to the less important matters between themselves. Often Éomer found himself "handled" by one or two of his friends, and suddenly there was no shortage of volunteers to come for a ride with him, to take up a game of King's table, or an excursion to one village or the other, or for a sparring session. Éothain in particular kept coming up with difficult training scenarios, or just throwing several opponents at him and having them hammer at him until he was exhausted to the bone.

All the same it did work, taking off his edge for the better part of those long, frustrating weeks. The greedy thing in the pit of his stomach grew still, and it wanted her _now_, and there would be hell to pay if he was made to wait much longer.

Lothíriel sent him a letter once her escort had reached Mundburg. It sounded like she did not particularly enjoy all the attention she was getting there, but she was enduring it. As if knowing exactly what he would think upon reading her words, she continued to write: _"I'm not worried about attention when we are married, though. Who will want to look at me when you are standing by my side?"_

Preparations continued in Edoras and took an expectant tone. The wedding now drew near and soon enough the streets of the capital would be filled with bustle and travellers. All the guest houses were readied and so were many private homes of Eorlingas, eager to have important guests from Gondor. Many Rohirrim would be gathering for the royal wedding, too, and for this reason their majority would have to camp on the plains. Traders and craftsmen would soon arrive as well and prepare their stalls for selling goods both for use and as mementoes of the great occasion. While Éowyn and Faramir's wedding had caused a stir in Edoras, now it seemed that at least half of the Riddermark was on the move. All this business was a happy thing entirely. So many years had passed when there had been little to be glad about, and few reasons to celebrate.

At this time, Lothíriel's new workshop was at last finished. The masons and carpenters had worked hard all through the winter, building and furnishing it. Then the master wood-carvers of Edoras had come, transforming the whole outlook of the workshop and making it as fair a place as any were in Edoras. At Éomer's request, they did not decorate the surfaces just with familiar Rohirric themes, but added Amrothian devices to their work as well. If one looked at the carvings closely, one would frequently find swans, sailing ships, and flowers of the south in a wondrous display not yet seen in Rohan. Shelves were brought in along with a sturdy working table, pots were produced for the hearth and carven chests for storing such things as she would require, and a small plot for useful household plants was prepared right next to the entrance – a sort of an extension of the royal garden. As the finishing touch, a locksmith prepared a lock and matching key beautifully decorated with a swan's head. It was remarkably delicate work on a piece of iron. When he looked around in the finished workshop, Éomer felt enormously proud of his craftsmen. He couldn't wait to show it to Lothíriel.

Then at last came the day that the King's Company took their leave of Edoras and began the journey to Mering Stream – the border between Rohan and Gondor where the bridal escort would be met and welcomed. His council rode with him and so did a number of Eorling nobles. Once the two companies joined at the border, it would be a veritable city at move.

They travelled at a fair pace, as most of the equipment for camping had been beforehand, and so arrived about the same time as the wagons that held the tents and foodstuffs and the like. Some of the nobles of the land joined them on the way, while others would be making for the capital and setting camp there. Eadwig and his daughter Guthild were among those who rode with the King's Company to the border and back. Éomer had not been sure whether they would participate in the journey, to say nothing of the royal wedding, considering what hopes they had harboured for this very occasion. On the other hand, it was an event of great import and no lord of Rohan, if they meant to maintain a standing among the nobility of the Mark, could ignore it. Perhaps they were even curious about the lady who, as they probably saw it, had taken Guthild's rightful place. As it was, when Éomer greeted them, they were stiffly polite with him, although a cool gleam remained in Eadwig's eyes.

No glimpse of the bridal escort could yet be seen when Éomer and his party reached Mering Stream, though he searched the eastern horizon often with his eyes. For the time being, there was little to do except set camp and wait. That, at least, was something he could do to distract himself with to keep from acting like an impatient maniac.

In the evening Aragorn's messengers arrived at the stream. The bridal escort was less than half a day's ride away, and would meet the King's Company tomorrow. It was enticing bit of news: if he rode into the night, Éomer might have met his queen-to-be even today. But Éothain gave him a sharp look like he knew exactly what the young king was thinking of, and his expression spoke in volumes: such reckless ideas would not be endorsed by anybody.

The night went by quietly, and one might have thought this was just any Rohirric camp if not for one restlessly pacing king, but with dawn came an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation. Tents were being pulled down, quick breakfasts were had beside cooking fires, and some of those with stout hearts even took cold baths in Mering Stream. Éomer was among these, for he was welcoming his bride to Rohan today and he should at least try and not appear like some wildman from the woods. Leofrun had not stopped haranguing him about proper presentation and she would probably have supplied him with ten different kinds of soaps had he allowed it.

It was midday when the banners of Gondor were first glimpsed, led by the White Tree and the Swan Ship. A long train of riders, carriages and wagons was slowly making its way on the Road, their banners flying in the wind and the armour of guards glinting in the sun. A violent shiver went down Éomer's spine and he gave the sign. Then Horns of the North burst to song, greeting this great procession and all around him, he could feel his people growing ever more anxious and eager. Had any lady of Gondor ever been so impatiently awaited, or travelled to Rohan as a bride in an escort more illustrious?

Heralds and guards came to sight at first, Knights in the liveries of King Elessar and of Dol Amroth. Then Aragorn himself could be seen with Arwen, and around them were Éowyn and Faramir and Imrahil's own family. Lothíriel was in the middle of them, riding her white mare and eagerly savouring the first glimpse of Rohan with her waking eyes. Her gaze locked with Éomer's. He very nearly dug his heels in Firefoot's sides and raced forward to meet them, but Éothain cleared his throat in a way that left little to interpretation.

Slowly the Gondorian party crossed the river, leading their horses carefully to avoid injury, though the stream was shallow at this point. Anxiously Éomer waited, until the company of his fellow king was finally on his side of the bank.

"Welcome to Rohan, my friends. It is good to see you all", he spoke in a strong, steady voice and met the eyes of each guest. All were smiling – Éowyn was grinning – though Imrahil's expression was bittersweet.

"Thank you. We are glad to see the green plains and the open sky of your land once again. It's an honour and a joy to be escorting your bride, the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth", said Aragorn warmly, his eyes glinting with good cheer.

"It's a proud day for the House of Dol Amroth", said Imrahil for his part, and his voice did not betray how deeply he felt the coming parting with his youngest child. "Proud, but even more so it's happy. We welcome you into our family, King Éomer."

"And you and yours are welcomed into mine, Prince Imrahil", said Éomer, and now that formalities were over, he urged his horse forward, leading Firefoot next to Lothíriel's mare. Her eyes were bright and eager, and readily her hand met his when he reached for her.

"Hail, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. The Riddermark welcomes you", he said, surprised to hear the tremble in his own voice.

She smiled and squeezed his fingers.

"And what of the King of the Riddermark?" she asked warmly.

"He does, too", he replied, and something light and merry rose all the way from his stomach, and he wanted to laugh out loud. Béma, how he had missed her sense of humour and the easy way she talked to him!

"I'm glad to hear it. I was worried he might have forgotten about me", she said, eyes glinting in that bright and lighthearted way he knew and loved.

"What nonsense", Éomer muttered, and though he knew all the eyes of his company and hers were on them, he leant forward to kiss her. It was simply too much to look at her, see the light in her eyes, and know she was coming home with him; and if any rued him for this bit of affection after so many months of parting, then that was their problem. Judging by the soft blush and smile on his bride's face, she didn't mind at all.

When greetings were done, the two companies more or less merged and began the journey westwards. Éomer joined his friends at the head of the great procession, and for a while it was fairly chaotic: everyone seemed to be talking and laughing at once. Unfortunately it also meant he couldn't really talk to his bride in peace. Lothíriel did not partake much in this boisterous conversation, but a smile lingered on her face and her eyes were not silent.

Eventually, he decided to take a cue from her and not fidget too much, no matter how dearly he wanted a private word. Chances for it would come and the very event of this bridal procession was something to be enjoyed. It might be the most leisure they would be given before and after the wedding.

For now, he was riding with the wind in his hair, his friends and wife-to-be were around him, and life was full of promise.

That, if anything, was a thing to be appreciated and enjoyed.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Here at last is an update! I had some trouble with this chapter, especially the latter part ot if. I had it practically written, but while editing I began to dislike it more and more. It still is not as good as I'd like it to be, but I think the chapter is improved from what it was. Either way, I do hope you enjoy it!

It's always fun writing Éomer as king, and him discovering he's more than up for this task, although it may at times surprise even himself. There's definitely a sense of mutual support growing between him and Lothíriel, and this searching for that rapport they ought to have as King and Queen of Rohan.

I also thought this would be the place to change the rating of the story.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! As always, I'm curious to hear what you think of the story. :)

* * *

**sailor68 - **That is a good question indeed, but we'll see how they deal with it!

**LH Wordsmith - **I decided it would do no good to dwell much more on their time of being apart, but rather get on with the wedding and the start of their life together.

As for the Dunlendings, your idea is interesting, though mine turned out to be rather different! I do wonder what they would make of Lothíriel, though.

Lovely thoughts on their children, and thank you for sharing! Poor Éomer would feel quite cornered, having two foresighted members of family! :D

**EStrunk - **Thank you! I do think all of this is no less strange to her as it is to him - she was resigned to always being alone.

It was nice to bring them back to the Houses of Healing and talk a bit more about her sight, as she hadn't really had a chance to explain it to him.

I would think the hour was probably so early there weren't many people to see her, and Éomer may have been on to something when he thought of how stealthily she moves. For the time being, I think everyone is buying the idea that it was Aragorn who warned him about the threat in Rohan, but it may be another thing if something similar happens again. But we'll see!

**Guest - **She's trying hard, indeed! While we don't see her POV in this story, it's interesting to think of how she sees and feels everything - knowing to an extent what will happen, and yet being totally surprised by the way her fate has intertwined with Éomer's. I'm glad to hear you're enjoying their interactions! It's been fun exploring their relationship, and letting it grow deeper.

**Boramir -** Thank you! You are quite right about palantír, and whether or not Éomer or Aragorn should talk about the issue directly.

Interesting thoughts on Dunlendings! You were on the right track, although sadly the prisoners are no longer among the living. It's a tough line to walk for Éomer, knowing how much bad blood there is between his people and Dunlendings, but also seeing their desperation. I do hope he comes across as you described, ready to protect his people but also fair in treating the perceived enemies.

**sai19 - **Indeed, I thought it would be good to show her sight and how it can impact the course of events.

I doubt the guard will do so, considering he has no reason to think she could have that kind of power at her disposal.

**fantasticferret - **Thank you! I hope you liked the outcome in this chapter. :)

**Catspector -** Thanks! I do believe that Lothíriel has it in her to act like a woman of her status would - she's had the upbringing and schooling, but often she just chooses not to pay heed to it. However, I think she's eager to do well by her bridegroom and be successful as a queen.

**Guest - **Indeed it is! I do hope you liked the chapter!

**Simplegulr4u - **I'm not sure either of them would have minded, but fortunately (or unfortunately) things don't go that way!

**Jo - **Thank you!

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Glad you liked it! :)

**rossui - **It definitely appears they are providing one another (though perhaps unconsciously) with just the emotional needs they have. Éomer is certainly thriving on her support and affection.

**SwanKnightoftheNorth - **I post updates as quickly as I can!

**pzacharatos - **Thanks!

**Wondereye - **Thanks! I rather wanted to show it working on the behalf of Rohan - and that in a way, she now sees further ahead than before.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The days of the journey were simple and pleasant indeed, even though they went by rather uneventfully. One day much resembled the next with the same routines of setting up and dismantling the camp, makeshift meals by campfires or dinners in this or that noble's pavilion, and endless riding. However, this calm offered a welcome chance to catch up with friends and family, to simply spend time with them without the grand circumstances of court. Everyone seemed to be in a kind of holiday mood, paying less notice to etiquette and protocol. At campfires, folk mixed and socialised happily, whether they were nobles or Riders or servants. Funnily – and annoyingly – enough it seemed like the King of Rohan and his bride were the only ones not allowed to enjoy this relaxed mood. By the time they were halfway to Edoras, he had had no more than three private conversations with her, and all of those had lasted for only several minutes. Even when they walked around the camp, in the sight of all their fellow travellers, several chaperones would trail them closely. Every time he tried to catch her alone, he found her surrounded by both Gondorian and Eorling women, and usually there were several Swan Knights, too. At least one of her brothers was constantly hovering nearby.

Sometimes, he wondered what they expected him to do – kidnap her and force her to marry him?

Much of the journey Lothíriel rode on her mare, but often she travelled by a carriage, which was transporting perhaps the most unusual passengers of this whole journey: there in neat pots and boxes were many plants she was bringing with her to Edoras. The plants took some looking after and she would trust that task to nobody but herself. Still, how she was able to do it in a moving carriage, Éomer could only wonder. Even some nights, she would easily have forgotten herself with her plants in the fading light, until one of her brothers went to lure her out – and to remind her she needed to eat and rest, too.

Obviously, the land of the horselords was a source of great wonder and curiosity for her. When the procession stopped in the middle of day to rest for a while, water the horses and eat some lunch, she did not sit about waiting to be served her meal: rather, she picked up a small bag and went hiking with a few dubious Swan Knights at her heels. When she discovered some new flower or herb, she would sit down to make a quick sketch, and then find the nearest available Eorling to teach her its name in Rohirric. Once it was time to continue the journey, she would return to her steed or to her carriage with muddy boots and the hems of her cloak stained. A couple of times a guard had to be sent to fetch the lady back so that the journey could continue.

There was one time Éomer heard Amrothos muttering, "I swear, if we just left her here on the plains, she probably wouldn't even notice."

Her single-minded endeavours were regarded curiously both by Gondorians and Eorlingas. One night in the camp, Éomer overhead a few southern courtiers gossiping in scandalised tones how astonishing it was that Prince Imrahil's own daughter went wandering, attired in plain riding gowns more fitting for some country pumpkin, and seemingly unaware of stains on her skirts and cloak. The other time, his ears picked up a conversation by a pair of Riders agreeing it was a good thing their future queen was already getting to know Rohan instead of sitting in a carriage and refusing to come out. This controversy over the King's bride was actually rather amusing, but it also made Éomer feel even more strongly that he and Lothíriel were a good match.

As much as his patience was tried in the form of hovering chaperones, there were still sweet moments to be enjoyed. There were nights when they might join a few Rohirrim by a camp-fire, sit and listen to the songs and tales of the Mark, and Lothíriel would lean her head against his shoulder while warming her fingers inside his hands. At times she would ask him to translate something, or for a clarification on things she didn't completely understand. Eventually she would begin to nod off, and then he would walk her back to her tent. A couple of times, a few of Rohirrim were inspired to show their queen-to-be some of their dances – practice for the wedding, they said. The bride's chaperones made it quite clear she could not participate in these exercises, but at least she was allowed to watch. Even that was close to being denied from her when one overly enthusiastic couple danced straight into a tent and collapsed it on the top of its occupant, a stable-hand of King Elessar's. The startled man crawled out cursing and swearing he would never come to the Mark again.

"Is that likely to happen at our wedding?" Lothíriel whispered to Éomer, her expression controlled, though there was laughter in her eyes.

"Béma only knows", he replied, once he was sure he was not going to laugh himself silly.

But while the atmosphere was generally light and cheerful, things were not meant to go so entirely smoothly. Several days into the journey, the weather turned against them. In the morning, the whole camp woke up to a grey light that promised rain. Sun hid behind a thick cover of clouds, hanging low and heavy in the sky. The air was chilly and damp, as though the winter had come to visit one for one more day before full spring, and what few cooking fires were successfully lit, burned small and pitiful. When tents were pulled down and wagons and carriages readied for the day's travel, it was done without the usual cheery bustle. All who could chose to travel in carriages, heavily wrapped in furs and cloaks.

Éomer was not surprised when he saw Lothíriel meaning to ride, for she was generally not intimidated by any weather. He was thinking of asking why she wouldn't take her carriage, when her father and Elphir approached her. Éomer could overhear them asking whether she was meaning to get sick before her wedding, and after a brief debate she gave up her mare. Still, her expression was not pleased when she climbed inside her carriage and she hovered at its door, as if to catch as much fresh, rain-damp air as she could.

He stopped by her carriage before the escort started again.

"I assure you, dear heart, you would feel much more miserable if you were to ride in damp clothes in this chilly air", he reassured her gently.

She shook her head defiantly.

"Not you, too. You know how well this Rohirric cloak keeps the water", she said, shrugging as if to show off the green garment on her shoulders. Often she used it while on the road, much to the approval of Eorlingas travelling with them.

"All the same, I really don't want you catching a cold. You don't have to prove anything to me", he said, shaking his head.

She made a face at him and said nothing. So he cleared his throat, and asked instead, "How are your plants doing? None have died yet, I hope?"

"Not yet, though they aren't getting as much sun as I'd like to. The carriage does have a window, but it's not very big and it doesn't let quite enough light inside", said Lothíriel and a small crease appeared on her brow.

"Maybe we can make a longer stop somewhere – Aldburg, perhaps. There you could bring them out to soak in sunlight", Éomer offered, but the idea did not seem to excite her very much. Instead, her eyes were scanning her surroundings, especially drawn out to the plains. Her fingers, pressed against the carriage door, tapped as though some nervous tic had taken over.

"Is everything all right?" he asked her, lowering his voice.

"I... I'm not sure", she replied quietly and closed her eyes. Then abruptly she glanced inside the carriage – it was shared with her by a couple of ladies from Dol Amroth – and then back at him again. In Rohirric, and hesitating here and there with her choice of words, she uttered, "My skin is crawling. This rain draws out foul things. There are orcs prowling in grey shadows."

Her words instantly made him tense. Orcs would dare to stalk a company like this? And yet, during the past couple years, there had been other instances where they had acted out of sheer desperation against stronger foes. And even this escort had its weak points. There were plenty of travellers with them who would be helpless against an attack, and the guards were stretched thin along the long line of the company. A swift raid might in fact achieve something, if done right.

"How many?"

"It's a fairly small company. Just a few hungry strays."

"Can you see where they mean to strike?" he asked her quietly.

Lothíriel closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. After a moment, she answered, still in Rohirric, "I think they will try to attack the tail. There are plenty of supply wagons there, no?"

"Aye. It makes sense", he conceded grimly. There were guards at the rear, but not as many as he would have posted there if he had known about this threat. Still, he knew he was again in her debt. Once more her sight gave him a chance to thwart a danger that might otherwise go unheeded until it was too late.

He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles.

"Thank you, Lothíriel. You'll save lives again", he told her gravely.

She smiled faintly.

"I just see things. It is your hand that wields the sword", she told him simply.

He pressed her hand gently.

"Stay here and be careful. I'll ask for one of your brothers to take a few Swan Knights and guard your carriage just in case", he told her before taking his leave.

"I'll be fine, silly", Lothíriel said calmly, but did not try to make him change his mind about safety precautions.

Éomer tried not to walk too briskly once he had left her and the carriage. Once again he was facing the problem of how to present the danger to his men without revealing Lothíriel's part in the matter. Was this how it would always be? How long would it take before a straight answer was demanded? Well, hopefully he wouldn't have to figure it out just today. He could send out scouts, and if there were orcs stalking after the escort, it shouldn't be too difficult to find out. Rohirric warhorses were keen to smell orcs even in such weather as this.

He found Erchirion preparing his horse for the day's journey. Imrahil's second son looked at Éomer with a raised eyebrow when he leaned close, but his expression grew quickly serious when he heard the news.

"Stay close to your sister today. She has seen an orc attack. It shouldn't be anything too serious, but I would have her protected", said the young king quickly, anxious to go and find his captain. He could see the news were easily accepted, and even without wonder on the issue that Éomer knew of her gift. Perhaps she had told her brothers about this, too.

"I will look after her", Erchirion promised firmly, and now that Éomer knew her security was ensured, he felt a little less worried. Lothíriel had spoken of only a few hungry orcs, but even so, he could not help the sheer terror he felt at the idea of her being hurt. He had lost too many people already, and her – well, he had no idea of what he'd do if anything happened to her.

He found Éothain making sure that both Firefoot and his own horse were ready for the day, checking all the many buckles of reins and the saddle, muttering in a low, calming voice to the steeds, and feeling their legs with his clever fingers. The Captain glanced up at his king, and then looked at him again and longer, recognising the expression on his face straight away.

"Is something the matter?" asked Éothain as he straightened himself.

"Maybe", said Éomer in a low voice and halted next to Firefoot. He ran a hand across the stallion's mane, as though to calm the animal – when in fact it was himself who was restless. He looked at his captain and spoke, "Send out some scouts. There's a quiet in this rain that I don't like."

"All right", Éothain replied. This time, he didn't seem to suspect anything about his king's orders. And perhaps it was no wonder. Even in times past, orcs had used weather like this to their advantage. Both the King and his captain were seasoned Riders who felt on the edge when they couldn't see far ahead, and when there was a quiet under the sky.

While Éothain was sending out the scouts, Éomer had a few words with Aragorn, letting his friend know there may be some trouble coming, but that it was under control. Aragorn listened to him keenly, nodding here and there.

"Do you need my help?" he asked eventually, when Éomer had explained the situation – excluding Lothíriel's part in it, of course. Yet who knew how much the King of Arnor and Gondor guessed?

"Thank you for the offer, but perhaps you'd better stay at the head of the escort as before. There will be a mass panic if we both are seen in full armour and riding back and forth looking serious. They would think it's Helm's Deep all over again", said Éomer with a wry smile, and his friend let out a low chuckle.

"That is true. People would be most alarmed indeed", agreed Aragorn, eyes glittering, though he insisted to be kept up to date.

At last the escort began its crawling journey for the day, and scouts quickly vanished into grey mist of rain. In the damp air, even the sound of swift riders was muted. For a time, Éomer himself rode up at the front of the long procession, but after an hour or so he made the usual inspection, riding all the way back to the tail of the escort. Every day, he himself or one of his trusted men would check on the rest of the company, and the sight of him was so usual that nobody guessed today, there was something different about it. Things were quiet so far. Horses, carriages and wagons travelled slowly and listlessly in the rain and what few conversations he could pick up, were carried on quietly. At the moment, nobody sensed the danger lurking somewhere behind.

Scouts began returning after midday. Up ahead and on the sides there was no sign of prowlers, just as Lothíriel's warning would imply. But further behind, one scout had discovered fresh prints of heavy iron-shod feet. They were being tracked and the slow pace of the escort provided plenty of opportunities for it.

Quickly a plan was formed between the young king and his captain. They plotted quietly in Rohirric and nobody around them, except for Aragorn, was the wiser as to what was going on. There was no sense in alarming the whole escort when the tracks only indicated a small raiding party. Most like, they would be counting on speed and confusion, and then scattering to the wind before defences could be mustered.

When the escort stopped to eat some lunch and give a rest to the horses, Éomer and his men made their first move. Wrapped in plain, tattered cloaks to hide their weapons and armours, the young king himself and a few others switched places with wagon riders at the tail. Stealthily some spears were put in one wagon, hidden but easily available. Mounted knights slowly took places not far from the wagons, their heavy armour concealed with plain cloaks as well. Under more than just one cloak, a light bow was kept ready. When the meal was finished and the escort began to move again, the entire tail was being maintained by the King's own Riders.

Time passed slowly. Éothain rode in the same wagon as Éomer and they took turns at driving it. The sturdy, placid ponies pulling the wagon were quite the different creatures compared to the spirited warhorses both the King and his captain were used to dealing with, trotting on calmly and requiring very little attention and mastery from their drivers. Rain still continued, lighter at times and heavier at others, though far in the west Éomer saw a faintest glimmer of blue sky. The orcs would see it soon enough as well, depending how closely they were following. A promise of light would either hasten their attack, or hold it back until nightfall.

Afternoon was growing late when it finally came, swift but not surprising. The attackers did not make noise as they came sprinting from both sides towards the slowly moving wagons. There were some twenty, twenty-five orcs and even a couple of Uruks. All of them looked hungry and mean and desperate. As soon as there was contact, Éomer saw their weapons were ill-kept. Without the armouries and smithies of Mordor and Isengard, orcs were no match to the well-armed Knights of the King's Guard.

Further ahead in the escort screams rose, but Éomer let the attackers get fairly close to the bulging wagons. Then, seeing the orcs were now near enough, he roared out his battle-cry. His men sprung to action, throwing aside their tattered cloaks, raising their bows, and grabbing tall spears. Mounted warriors swiftly broke away from the escort and surrounded the area. All at once, the King's Knights burst into song. Some of the screams died – out of sheer amazement, he suspected.

Éomer himself fought on foot, leaping down from the wagon and grabbing the shield he had slipped behind his back. Fury burst in his blood like lightning and the fell battle song flowed from his tongue as though by itself. The joy of battle took him and with some astonishment, he realised he had missed the violent frenzy of a real fight. Béma, he was good at this. With explosive force and speed, his sword made its deadly music in the air, hewing down shrieking enemies. If any tried to escape, they were quickly dealt with by the Riders.

It was over in less than ten minutes. No living orc or Uruk was standing at that point, and the grass was stained with black blood. Slowly it was washed away by the still continuing rain. Screaming and even singing had stopped and instead, there was a shocked stillness in the air. Éomer took a few deep breaths to calm down his racing heart and also the fury that still beat with it. Then as his mind cleared, he looked at one mounted warrior, and gave orders to take word of the skirmish to Aragorn, and to fetch some men to help with carcasses. It was too damp to burn them yet, but such a display should not be left right next to the Great West Road.

Éothain came to stand next to him, sheathing his sword and regarding the site of battle with a thoughtful look.

"You know, at some point you'll have to tell me the truth about this sixth sense you seem to have at times. You always had a nose for danger but this is different", said the captain quietly, still watching the scene rather than his king.

Éomer let out a small sigh. He probably should have known he wouldn't be able to fool Éothain.

"Maybe. But not all things can be said out loud even between friends. Why not simply take joy in the lives that were spared today?" he asked.

Now the Captain looked straight at him.

"If I did, then I wouldn't be doing my job", he said seriously. "And I hope whatever you are not telling me will not hinder me from it, either."

"Let us both hope so, indeed."

* * *

The atmosphere remained tense and quiet in the camp that night, although they had travelled for a couple miles more before settling down for the night, thus being well away from the site of the battle. But though people were not as cheerful or boisterous tonight, there was plenty of talk in the camp. Here and there little companies gathered to talk about the attack, and how fortunate it was the King's Guard had disposed of the raiders so quickly and efficiently. There were some who wondered out loud whether this journey was really so safe after all, but these were in minority, and others were quick to point out that a company led by King Éomer and King Elessar, both of them famous commanders and accompanied by other distinguished warriors, had little to worry about. Yet guards were doubled and come the morning, Éomer would send more scouts to ride longer patrols. More than once, he caught his sister watching him with a thoughtful look on her face, but she said nothing.

He wondered if Éowyn had been talking to Éothain.

Lothíriel's manner was calm and tranquil, as though all this was quite normal, and she was not greatly moved by her own part in guarding innocent lives. Nor was she worried for further threats, and her mood seemed to reassure some of those who still felt skittish over the attack. Only when Éomer first returned from the tail end of the procession did she step to meet him, and there was a brief flash of concern in her eyes, but it passed quickly. She smiled and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. Imrahil watched them quietly, his look not unlike Éowyn's, though he too kept his silence.

Morning came with bright sunshine and the world had a fresh, washed feel about it. Once more the long trail of horses, carriages and wagons pushed forward across the plains. The great grasslands were almost impossibly green after the rain and the sky was the gentlest blue one usually saw much closer to summer. It was as if the land itself welcoming the new queen. She herself looked around herself with wide eyes as though one who is seeing the world for the first time, and finding many new things strange and beautiful.

At this stage of the journey, they began to pass by more homesteads and villages. There Rohirrim gathered by the side of the road to watch the great company in wonder, perhaps trying to guess which of the fine southern ladies was to be their new queen. Children ran by the side of the company until wearying, and many called the name of Éomer King. He met these shouts with smiles and raising his hand in greeting.

In the beauty of a fine day of spring, the battle on the road was soon forgotten. Voices and laughter rose among the company once more. The earlier sense of happy expectation grew again as they journeyed deeper into the heart of Rohan.

For many of the young Rohirrim, this was apparently the most exciting time of their lives. It was a chance not only to meet other young people of their land, but also of Gondor, and friendships, attractions and rivalries sprang to life so quickly nobody could keep track of it. In a way Éomer envied it. When he had been of that age, chances for such light-heartedness came rarely. If he had met other young Rohirrim beyond Edoras and Aldburg, it was because he had been riding to their villages and homesteads when they were already a smoking ruin, or when returning from some battle.

At the outskirts of the camp and the procession, one could see little confrontations happening, which were quickly broken off by captains or just anxious parents. There were a few reckless youths showing off their riding skills, trying to taunt and challenge the Gondorian lordlings. Maidens of southern courts watched these antics with a mixture of shock and intrigue – perhaps even wondering if Lady Lothíriel knew something they didn't. Certainly more than a few eyebrows had risen before at her free way of showing affection for her bridegroom, but the longer this journey continued, the more it was understood she was simply taking a cue from her new people. Still, Éomer guessed a few of the young daring riders were trying to make an impression on him in the hopes of securing a position among the King's Knights.

In such an atmosphere, it was only a matter of time something happened, though in retrospect Éomer was surprised the accident took place as late as when the company was nearing Aldburg. It was evening at the time, and he and Lothíriel were taking a turn around the camp before supper in Aragorn's pavilion. She had cleaned up a bit after the day's travel, and was wearing a dark blue gown that would probably be very impractical for riding. But her boots were stained and her hair was only simply fastened at the back of her head. The overall impression was both of untameness and grace, like she was some sort of a woodland princess. She was in a light mood, trying to have a whole conversation with him in Rohirric. It was going fairly well and only here and there he needed to supply her with a correct word. Often she laughed softly at her own mistakes, and her good cheer infected him as well.

Éomer did not particularly wish for this pleasant moment to be interrupted by anything, but it was then a sudden scream pierced the air. At once, instinct kicked in. He pulled his bride closer to himself in case he needed to shield her with his greater body mass, or whisk her away from potential danger. With his eyes he was already looking for the source of disturbance and his hand was ready on the hilt of his sword. Lothíriel let out a small gasp at his side.

"Sire, over here!" a voice called, and he recognised one of his own guards gesturing quickly at him.

"What is it?" he barked out the question, and though the camp around him did not yet seem to be springing into panic, he was already going through various different defence plans.

"It's just one of them lads – he has fallen off his steed. He looks hurt", said the guard, at which Éomer relaxed at once. Nothing serious, then.

"Let's go. He may need our help", said Lothíriel next to him. He wasn't sure what either of them could do, but then decided she might have an idea or two, having aided at the Houses of Healing during and after the Battle of Pelennor fields.

A crowd had already gathered a little ways from the edge of the camp. Readily they made way for the King of the Mark and his bride, who held his hand tightly in her own. There on the ground was a young rider of Eadwig's company from Healding. Generally, the lad showed great promise for horsemanship, but was prone to provocation by his peers; he was often seen among the madcaps showing off some reckless riding tricks. Further away a few others were trying to calm down his steed, still skittish after whatever had spooked the poor creature. Best Éomer could gather from bits and pieces of conversation around him, the horse had thrown the rider off in the middle of a trick.

The lad himself was on the ground, still screaming even if the sound wasn't so blood-curdling as upon his first impact. His arm was twisted in an unnatural angle on his side.

Éomer let out a sigh. A trained rider knew well riding stunts were not just fun and games: it could go horribly wrong all of a sudden for a number of reasons. Horses could be tricky animals. Mastering one was trickier still, and even a seasoned rider could make a mistake that cost their life.

He turned to one of his own guards, telling him to hurry up and get healers, and he was still talking when Lothíriel suddenly left his side. Swiftly she made her way to the lad, knelt next to him, and took his uninjured hand in her own. She pressed her fingers against his cheek. Éomer could see her lips moving, but she was speaking so quietly only the young man on the ground apparently heard her.

The lad's wailing, now probably at least as much in shock as in pain, stopped abruptly and he went still. He was white as death and his eyes were wide as he stared at the young woman by his side. Lothíriel continued to speak to him in a quiet voice, her very being emanating calm and comfort. Around the scene, onlookers murmured amongst themselves. On more than one face, Éomer could see wonder.

First he thought: _She's Númenórean_. Her people by the Sea had long ago sailed from the now vanished kingdom, and yet in them lived still the wisdom and skill of those who had lived nearest of all the mortal lands to the Blessed Realm. But then he recalled what Imrahil had said: _In her the blood of Mithrellas of the Elves nearly runs true._

"Give him some space", he commanded, shaking off his own surprise. Glancing further away from this scene, he could see the lad's horse had been caught and was now being tended to by the stern-faced Éothain. The crowd parted again and a pair of healers appeared, their breathing laboured as though they had sprinted here. Which might be true indeed.

Lothíriel did not move from the young man's side when the healers crouched to inspect him. She remained there, still holding the hand in her own, although she spoke no more. But though healers had now arrived, the lad's eyes remained on her like she was some sort of a beacon in the night.

"It's broken all right", commented the older of two healers grimly. "Bloody surprise it took this long for one of these young lunatics to get hurt."

"At least it was nothing worse", said Éomer for his part. He raised his eyes and gave a long, stern stare to the people who had gathered around, and spoke in a strong voice, "Yet let this be a reminder to all of what can happen even to a skilled rider. I would hope you all consider whether this is the way you wish to honour your new queen, and our guests from the south."

Few met his eyes, but a murmur rose among the crowd. There he also saw Eadwig watching this scene, but for how long he had stood watching and what he made of it, Éomer could not say. The man's face was completely blank.

With the help of a couple of riders, the injured lad was able to get up on his feet. Lothíriel too returned to Éomer's side, although she still watched the young man escorted after the healers, to be tended to in their tent. The scene had now calmed down and people began to disperse, though quiet conversations still went on between them.

He linked his arm with hers and so began to walk again, remembering they were expected at Aragorn's pavilion. But as soon as they had some space between them and their guards and chaperones, he spoke to her in a low voice.

"How did you do that?" he asked her. Once, back in Dol Amroth, he had seen her calm her horse with a touch and a word. And even further beyond, for he recalled that moment in the Houses of Healing, her touch on his cheek and the gentle words of consolation. Was_ this_ what had happened? He had thought much of that particular moment, and yet it had never appeared to him like this. It felt like some kind of a revelation.

Lothíriel shrugged.

"I couldn't explain to you if I tried", she replied softly.

"But you can calm and control both men and animals", he said, unsure of what to make of this information.

She grimaced.

"I wouldn't call it control. Their minds are still their own. It's just sometimes, when they are nervous or scared or in pain, I can help people to feel calmer", she said warily, looking straight ahead.

He considered this for a moment. It made sense, and he had heard of Faramir having a similar talent. As far as he knew, Lothíriel only ever did this thing to calm a troubled mind and in the end, it wasn't that much stranger than her ability to see things that had not yet come to pass.

Béma, what a thing it was – all these gifts manifesting in this young woman, who would only use them kindly. And yet, perhaps that was the very reason they were given to her.

"Does it bother you, then?" she asked worriedly, holding tight to his arm, as though he might escape and call off the wedding thanks to these revelations.

"... no. No, it doesn't. I don't know why it surprises me so. I should have guessed it long ago", Éomer said, glancing at her and smiling lightly.

She looked sheepish.

"I wasn't doing it to you that night. I promise", said Lothíriel quickly, looking like she still wasn't sure he wasn't going to bolt.

"It doesn't matter. I know you would never abuse this gift, dear heart. And whether you were doing anything or not, you did help me", he said firmly. Lothíriel squeezed his arm and let out a small, relieved breath.

"Are you very cross with me for not saying anything about it? I promise it's not because I try to keep anything secret. It just feels so nice being treated like I'm perfectly normal", she said softly, holding on to his arm with both her hands.

He guessed it was more, though. Lothíriel lived always at least partly in her own world, forgetting others didn't share in her gifts. And he – for her, he was the one person who did not judge her either way.

"I know", said Éomer, and though they were there for all the world to see, he leaned down to kiss her.

* * *

Close to the end of the journey, the very night before they expected to reach Edoras, there was mischief in the camp. In some eyes, it would probably seem even more serious because of the fact that it was aided in by King Elessar himself. Many who did not know him probably thought that the King of the Reunited Kingdom should be the bastion of propriety itself, though nothing could be further from the truth. You didn't seek the hand of Arwen Undómiel in marriage, though you were but a Ranger of the North and she the noblest of immortal maidens that walked the earth, if you held propriety as a high principle.

So it was that the King Elessar was seen asking Lady Lothíriel for a walk, and many approved of it: no doubt the great king was to give her advice for coming days, and how to keep Gondor's interests in mind when she was the Queen of Rohan.

What he did was walk with her through a small wooded dale, and then to a hilltop, crowned by a great rock left there by some ancient calamity. There, on the western side of the formation, waited the King of Rohan alone.

Tomorrow they would reach Edoras and once they did, there would probably be very little chance of actually talking with her before the wedding. So, Éomer very much wished to be alone with her for a while, perhaps tell her of what to expect in the coming days, and simply savour a moment together without watchful eyes on them.

Lothíriel did not seem surprised that the walk with King Elessar had taken such a turn. Aragorn himself just smiled and said he'd be back in half an hour. That was simply not enough time, but on the other hand, Éomer knew what certain matrons would think – that a man didn't need even that much to cause irreparable damage. Not to mention, in half an hour's time it would soon grow dark. He himself might enjoy the idea of getting lost in the dark on the plains with Lothíriel, but she probably had other plans for the night.

All the same, there were better things to think of, and with a smile, he patted the spot next to him on the cloak, which he had spread on the ground. Lothíriel smiled and came to take a seat by his side.

"So the King Elessar is in league with you. How devious", she said as she picked up his hand and laced their fingers.

"Of course he is. To expect anything else is simply denying the facts", he replied, pressing a kiss against her temple. Smiling, he continued, "I wanted to talk to you alone. You may have guessed it's going to be next to impossible once we get to Edoras."

"Indeed. I rather wanted to speak of it with you, and what to expect. Freola has told me something about the wedding, but I'd like to hear your take", Lothíriel said, settling down comfortably against his side.

"First of all, we'll arrive at Edoras tomorrow. Some of your company will continue with me to the city, but many more will camp near it – your family included, for the bride won't enter Edoras or Meduseld before the wedding. I believe it's both tradition and a ruse to keep me from sneaking around your lodgings", he began, and she snorted softly in laughter.

"Are all Rohirric bridegrooms expected to always be impatient?" she asked him.

"Very much, and usually no less than their future wives. Some of them steal their brides – or are goaded to do it. Sadly, I can't attempt such a thing. My council seems to think it would be poor politics", he answered. Lothíriel laughed softly.

"You'll get a couple of days to rest and prepare for the wedding", he continued then. "I expect many Eorlingas will try to seek an audience with you, but feel free to turn them down. You'll have better things to do than indulge their curiosity – which is what it will mostly be about, no matter how urgently they present themselves."

"What about the wedding day?"

"I don't know what the ladies have planned for you in the morning, but I know I shall be riding to meet you at midday. I'll ask you to ride with me, and technically you can still stop the wedding from happening right there, if you just refuse to come with me", he explained, although he did not think for one minute she had such doubts.

"My father would probably kill me for wasting everybody's time so completely", Lothíriel said wryly.

"Only if Éowyn didn't get to you first", Éomer chuckled. "Once you hopefully have accepted to join me, we'll ride through Edoras and to Meduseld. Before we enter the Hall, the handfasting will take place. It will be conducted by one of close family, either mine or yours. When it is finished, we are married as far as Rohirric custom goes."

"But something tells me things are not so simple for us."

"That is correct. Once we step inside Meduseld, we'll be signing the final marriage contracts. It will be witnessed by a company of your father, whomever he wishes to bring with him, and some of my people. I expect my council will be there with various lords of the land. You have met some of them, but I'll present you formally as the new queen once the contracts are signed", he continued to speak.

"Hmm. Sounds much more solemn than I expected of Rohirrim, but I suppose it can't be avoided. What happens next?" Lothíriel asked, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting now, colouring the tips of the mountains to the west, and casting deep shadows in the woods that covered the mountainsides. Rohan was offering its best tonight, for the sky was in full blaze with all the possible shades of red, orange and yellow. This was to be their life's canvas.

"We'll greet our guests as they join us in the hall. Then the feast feast will begin, which should allow us a moment to catch our breath, and things will be less formal. There will be drinking, and music, and eventually dancing. You may expect drunk Rohirrim will try to tease you, but I shall do my best to thwart them", he promised gallantly, and she let out a soft, low laugh.

"Sounds like it will be quite the day", she mused.

"Aye, that it will be. I suggest you come up with some kind of a discreet signal with your maid so that we may retire without the crowd noticing. I don't know about you, but I can do without a lot of jokes at our expense", said Éomer. More than the sunset, he was watching her, and thinking of all the wonderful things about her he'd like to touch and explore, but he kept that urge under control with some difficulty. Curiously enough, the thought that she was to be his wife very soon did not help.

"I agree. I have got quite enough joking from Amrothos. He thinks it's hilarious I didn't see this coming", Lothíriel muttered, shaking her head.

"That does not surprise me", he said. He noticed her hands had grown a little cool, so he gathered them both inside his own and kissed them.

"About the handfasting... I must admit it fascinates me. We have nothing like that in Gondor. It seems like such a definite, literal thing. Not to say that's bad. Marrying anyone, even if they are not the King of Rohan, is no small matter. I think it's good the ceremony reflects it", Lothíriel said slowly. She looked up at him and asked, "Tell me, what it's like?"

He watched her for a moment in silence. She met his gaze evenly, so bold and yet so young. This was the paradox of Lothíriel, the way these were combined in her. Once again, he recalled Imrahil's words about the blood of Mithrellas; for so his friends had described the Immortal Folk to him, both young and merry, and ageless and strange.

He took a deep breath, because the look in her eyes was starting to make him think and feel things that were no good while they were still unmarried. Gently he unfastened one ribbon from her hair, letting the braid tumble softly open on her shoulder. She looked at him intently, her eyes deep and eager.

As he spoke, he picked up her hand. Then he began to tie the ribbon around their fingers, their palms and their wrists.

"There's not much more to explain, for it is a simple ceremony – simple and ancient, and so it was long before Eorlingas ever came to the Mark. Like I said, a close member of the family, either mine or yours, is supposed to do this. They will speak words of prayer and blessing, and the names of our Houses and families. Then once they are done, in the eyes of Rohirrim you'll be my wife indeed."

With that, he finished a final knot on the top of their hands. It looked clumsy, thanks to him using just one hand to make it, but it was there.

Lothíriel regarded the knot for a moment. Then she flashed him a smile.

"You just fasted your hand with mine. Doesn't that mean that in a way, we're married already?" she asked. He thought she sounded at least half serious. Éomer swallowed.

"I'm afraid the even should be witnessed by other people to be binding."

"But we are witnessed, even if it's not by other people. The world around us, even this hilltop, is full of life, some of it so small that we can't begin to guess at it. How many eyes, however tiny, there may be fixed on us? And in the Ancient West there are those who shaped even this land, and watch as generations of Men emerge and pass", she said solemnly, regarding the ribbon around their joined hands.

He swallowed again, harder this time. It was difficult to come up with a proper response, or really consider what she was saying. For to have her as his wife right now, body and soul, was almost too much to think of after so many anxious months of waiting for her.

"... well, in that case, maybe we are married indeed."

She smiled, and let out a soft gasp when he leaned in to kiss her. Then, having recovered, she grasped him by the back of his neck and answered the kiss with enthusiasm. It was the first time they could actually kiss properly since seeing each other again at the Mering Stream – since being parted for many long months. Accordingly, the kiss quickly grew bolder and more heated.

Lothíriel pulled suddenly back. She was breathing unevenly, there was lovely colour on her cheeks, and her eyes were wide and darkened with desire. He was about to ask her if she wanted to stop when she lifted his free hand, slow at first as though she was unsure of how to proceed, and then decidedly pressed it against her left breast.

For a moment they stared at one another. A low groan rose deep from his throat. Then he pressed his hand against her softness and captured her lips with renewed enthusiasm. She didn't try to resist when he pushed her down on the cloak.

That was how Aragorn found them a little while later. Neither actually noticed his arrival, but he cleared his throat politely, and Lothíriel startled in her bridegroom's arms. But Éomer groaned in frustration at being disturbed so, and threw an irritated glance at his fellow king. Judging by Aragorn's look, he might as well have found them drinking tea.

As if reading his mind, Aragorn smiled mildly and said, "I did say I was coming back in half an hour."

"So you did, my lord, but you can't say you're surprised", Lothíriel commented, her voice completely calm, though there was a blush on her cheeks. Éomer just grunted, but he did roll away, letting her sit up. She picked up the ribbon from the ground where it had fallen and quickly braided her hair again.

"No, I truly cannot", Aragorn conceded. His grey eyes glinted in gentle amusement as he regarded the pair.

Éomer rose on his feet and offered both his hands to Lothíriel to help her up. Using his hands, she lifted herself in a nimble motion and looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

"Do I look very dishevelled? Is our company going to be very scandalised to think I was snogging with the King of Rohan?" she asked lightly.

"Some may be. Others – well, I suspect they will be as little surprised as Aragorn here. Not to mention, we are to be married in less than a week", Éomer said and brushed the back of her cloak for some loose lichen that grew on the stone.

"It's to be expected at this point", Aragorn said sagely, and though his expression was level, his eyes were full of well-meant laughter.

"Shall we get back, then? I would hate for people to think the King of Arnor and Gondor is in the habit of whisking maidens away", said Lothíriel as she put her hand on Aragorn's offered arm.

"That would be unfortunate", he agreed, and the two began to make their way back to the camp.

Éomer stayed behind for a while, watching the Sun drop behind the mountains, and her last rays vanishing from the sky. Then he picked up the cloak from the ground, brushed off what bits of grass and dirt were attached, and headed for the camp.

The memory of her hand and of the ribbon were still fresh against his skin. _Maybe we are married indeed_.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Here is a new chapter! I hope you all like it. :)

This was originally supposed to be a part of the previous chapter, but as it grew, I decided to split them up. Here we see a bit more of Éomer and Lothíriel's developing relationship, but also her continuing to take a part in the lives of her new people through her gift. So far it has certainly been rather helpful.

Lothíriel's ability to calm down the injured young rider is rather inspired by a passage about Faramir in the Return of the King, where it's said he can govern man and beast. I wouldn't say what she does is exactly "governing", but she has some power in impacting others' moods at certain times.

As ever, I hope you and yours stay safe, and stay strong!

* * *

Inspiration for the chapter: Nightwish - All the Works of Nature Which Adorn the World - The Green

* * *

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Thank you! I've rather been enjoying their interactions in this story, too!

**Boramir - **I think they might seek out Treebeard eventually, indeed! There is much that Men of Middle-earth could learn of him and the other Ents.

**Katia0203 - **-Tolkien is actually rather subtle about small but dark details like that, which I rather appreciate. There's definitely some very dark instances in his stories, if you read it closely enough, but it never becomes the "main purpose" of the story. Which, I think, endures time much better than some gritty grimdark stories/shows we've recently seen.

I think your mental image about Éomer pacing and writing many letters is rather accurate, and quite endearing!

**fantasticferret - **Thank you! I'm glad to hear it was enjoyable, even if it wasn't completely up to my own standard!

**Wondereye - **He has his suspicions, but I believe Éothain still lacks some necessary information to connect the dots!

We'll get to the wedding soon, hopefully!

**sailor68 - **Thank you! Her visions may become an interesting question in the future, indeed!

**Simplegurl4u **Poor Éomer is very, very anxious! And sometimes still forgets how a king is supposed to act. :D

Glad to hear you liked the part with the Dunlendings! I rather enjoyed it, too. I also wanted to show him growing more and more into this mantle of kingship, and striving to think more peacefully where it's possible - against his warrior's instinct.

As for the wedding - we're getting there, slowly but surely!

**EStrunk - **Thank you! I think Aragorn does see more than he lets on. But the bit with Dunlendings was indeed a darker episode in general, but I think the War of the Ring would leave such traces in everybody.

I had a feeling her appearance in one way or the other was needed, and at that point, Éomer was so exhausted, it was easy to imagine he would have a bit of daydream of her visitng for a moment. Glad you liked it!

**sai19 - **Thank you! It's such a compliment to hear people put down everything else they're doing at the moment, when they see my update. Always make me feel warm and fuzzy, if you know what I mean!

**LH Wordsmith - **Almost there at the wedding! She may be on the fence over how proper she should act at the weddign. :D

I'm glad you liked the chapter!

**Catspector - **Thank you! He's growing more used to trusting her vision. And I'm eager to get to show their life together!

**Jo - **Thank you!


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

On the morning of the wedding, Éomer was awakened by Éothain bursting into his bedchamber with quite the needless amount of clamour.

"Wake up, lad! Or do you want to miss your wedding?" the Captain bellowed as he came trampling through like an enraged _mûmak_.

Éomer cracked open one eye, though he didn't yet raise his cheek from the pillow.

"Nobody is marrying anybody at dawn and you know it full well", he informed his captain.

"Maybe, but you yourself asked to be roused early, so here I am. Your bath is ready", said Éothain as he snatched the blanket away from his king. Éomer grunted and hauled himself into a sitting position.

"Aye, I did ask to be roused, but you didn't have to be such an ass about it", he stated gruffly as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Stop complaining. Isn't this the big day you've been waiting for?" Éothain asked cheerfully, stoking the dying embers in the fireplace into new life.

Éomer did not dignify him with an answer. Grumbling to himself, he made his way to the bathing chamber where, as the annoying oaf had said, the tub was filled with steaming water and waiting for him. Briefly he wondered if Leofrun and Éowyn had had the whole royal household working through the night like a pair of madwomen. His sister had assumed her old role as though she had never been away at all, and for the past two days she and the old housekeeper had been terrorising the Golden Hall. He couldn't quite decide which of them seemed more gleeful.

He picked up a bar of finer soap than the kind he normally used and once seated in the tub, dumped his head under the water. He scrubbed his skin meticulously from neck to toe, washed his hair, and felt around his face to see whether his beard was in the need of a trim. Did it feel too long and coarse and would it bother her? When he got up, he cast a self-conscious glance down at himself. In general he didn't feel particularly modest about his nude self – life as Rider had long ago disabused him of such notions – nor did he worry over his partner's expectations more than a considerate lover would. Tonight was different. Lothíriel was to be his wife, he wanted tonight to be special for her, and he meant to share only her bed for the rest of his life. What did she expect? Certainly, she was not wholly ignorant or innocent in the issue of physical love – her responses to his affections so far betrayed she had considered these things before.

"Did you drown in that tub, lad?" Éothain's voice asked from the other room, abruptly interrupting his line of thought.

"No, but you're starting to make me wish I had", Éomer shot back and picked up a towel to dry off himself. He dressed in a plain shirt and trousers for the time being, knowing full well he was going to get frustrated with the royal regalia at least ten times today before the day ended; no reason to lengthen the ordeal any more than necessary.

He was combing his damp hair with his fingers when he stepped back into the bedchamber. From the front room, which would serve as something of a living area if the king had been in the habit of using his rooms for much else than sleeping and washing, he could hear Éowyn's voice.

"Is he up and decent? I'm not going to just stand about waiting with this tray, you know", she was saying to Éothain.

"You can put it here. He should be out any minute", answered the Captain.

"Here I am. You brought plenty of food, I hope?" said the young king as he stepped out of his bedchamber.

"Of course I did. We don't want you fainting in the middle of ceremony", Éowyn replied, beaming brightly next to a loaded tray as though she herself had made all the food on it – which he dearly hoped would not be the case. Éowyn and her catastrophical lack of skill in the kitchens were legendary throughout the Mark.

There was indeed plenty of food, from thick porridge to fresh bread and newly churned butter, some eggs and sausages, and an ample slice of cheese. Normally, he wouldn't eat so heavily in the morning, but today he had no desire to stand on ceremony with an empty stomach.

"Are you very excited? Nervous?" Éowyn wanted to know as he took a seat and began to eat.

"Mostly I feel unreal. For a time, I was sure this day would never come", he answered in the middle of bites.

His sister groaned out loud.

"I know the feeling. But I must admit you're much less cracked than I expected you to be at this point", she said, smiling brightly.

"He's just hiding it", Éothain muttered wryly. Éomer ignored his comment.

"Everything under control in the kitchens? Leofrun hasn't killed anybody yet?" he asked his sister.

"Aye, things are going along well. No need to worry about it, brother; you just focus on getting married", she replied with a bright smile.

"Oh, I intend to", he said, grinning back at her. "I hope you shall enjoy the celebrations as well. Go and comfort your husband. He was looking desolate yesterday – one might think you had abandoned him."

"That is nonsense. Faramir is a bigger man than that. He knows how important this is to me. I want to make sure my brother weds as is right and proper", said Éowyn with an airy gesture of her hand.

"Have you been to the camp by any chance?" Éomer asked, casting a hopeful look at her.

"Late last night, yes. All appears to be going well down there, and your bride seemed astonishingly calm. In fact, it looked like the ladies in waiting were more nervous and jittery than her! Though I overheard a couple of them criticising the way your wife lets her skirts and boots collect all sorts of mud and soil, and the other was certain she had seen the lady wandering outside the camp in moonlight", Éowyn said. She shook her head in a way that wholly discredited such talk, but Éomer knew it was not so unlikely Lothíriel had indeed sneaked out.

"Did you ask this tattler why she would be outside at night to witness such a thing?" Éothain inquired mildly.

"I did", Éowyn said with a wicked little smile. "She said no more after that."

"Did you talk to Lothíriel?" Éomer wanted to know.

"Yes. Like I said, she seems to be taking all this rather well. Of course, the camp around her tent was swarming with Swan Knights last night, and she was surrounded by a squadron of formidable matrons. Somebody seemed to think there might be foul play if the lady was left alone for too long", she replied in amusement.

"Understandable sentiment, though unnecessary. I could not have got away from my bachelor party even if I had tried", he said dryly.

"Is that so? I was half expecting Aragorn would make some excuse about taking her for a walk again", Éothain noted and gave a sharp glance at his king, but Éomer met the look with perfect innocence.

"By the way, she asked me to tell you not to worry about the beard, whatever that means", Éowyn said, raising an eyebrow.

There was only a momentary surprise on his part. He recalled thinking about it earlier, and if his bride would be bothered. What kind of a vision had betrayed this to her, he could only imagine – but if she had spied on him bathing, well, he wasn't offended.

"Ah, just what almost any man of the Mark wants to hear", Éothain muttered lightly. Éomer merely smiled at his sister in response.

She then came and gave him a neck-crushing hug. Fortunately, he had no food or drink in his throat at that moment.

"I'm so glad for you, brother! You deserve happiness like no other. Good luck for today!" she told him and only the faintest crack in her voice betrayed the intensity of her emotion.

Éowyn swept out soon after to continue her reign of terror with Leofrun. Meanwhile, Éothain continued his good-humoured taunting, half directed at his king and half at young Guthlaf, who had now arrived to lay out the royal regalia and make sure each piece was in pristine condition. Why this was necessary when the whole gear had been inspected only last night and found in perfect shape, Éomer did not know, but maybe this too was Leofrun's doing.

As for himself, he was just finishing up his breakfast when the guard peeked in and asked if the bridegroom had time to talk with King Elessar.

"Send him in", said Éomer and pushed back the tray. He was already on his feet when Aragorn came inside with Faramir. Both were carrying packages in their arms.

"What's this now?" asked the Rohir, raising an eyebrow. His two friends exchanged a smile.

"I had thought to give you a gift for your wedding day", said Aragorn warmly, "but I admit I had trouble coming up with anything. I know you don't make much of earthly possessions, but hopefully I've managed to find something that will be of use to you."

With that, he and Faramir set down the packages on a table by the window.

"You should open them right away. Otherwise, Aragorn will spend the rest of the day wondering whether he chose well or not", Faramir said, grey eyes twinkling in good humour.

"I would be happy to. No guest should languish at my wedding", said Éomer and began to open the packages, neatly and sturdily made to weather the long journey.

Inside them, Éomer found several leather-bound volumes and a few scrolls that, by the feel of them, had been recently made. He must have looked rather quizzical, as Aragorn was quick to explain the contents of the package.

"These are books from my own library. I promise none of them have been idly chosen", he said and picked up one tome, decorated heavily at the back with the tell-tale knot patterns. He said, "This volume contains some of the most ancient tales of Éothéod, as they were recorded in Gondor in Eorl and Cirion's time. The perspective is of Gondor and there may be some misunderstandings, but I wondered if your people still recall these histories, and if it might interest you."

Éomer received it with eager hands. Certainly, the oldest legends of Rohirrim were a matter of much debate and a volume that went back to Eorl's time might shed some light on the issue – maybe even recall tales that were now lost.

Aragorn then gestured at a pile of several books.

"As for these, they contain studies and treatises by wise men and even a couple of women of Gondor. They talk mostly about statecraft and nature of kingship along with other related issues. I've found they have some very interesting ideas. I know you do not consider yourself a learned man, but perhaps you may find some helpful insight inside these texts."

"They are standard reading for all scions of Gondorian noble houses, if they mean to call themselves educated. Boromir did not make much of them, but I think these volumes contain many things that are needful to know for a lord", Faramir put in, eyeing the volumes like they were a part of dragon's hoard. And they very nearly were. Such a compilation of beautifully bound books were a priceless gift, and even Éomer, king of a people who had no literary culture of their own, understood this.

"Indeed. Théoden probably studied them as well in his time, when he was but a boy in Lossarnarch. He did not have a chance to prepare you for following in his footsteps, but you may feel his voice speaking through these. Council of wise men and women is good, but there are things a king should not leave for others to know in his behalf", Aragorn added solemnly.

"Thank you. This is most generous", said Éomer as he laid the volume in his hands gently down on the table and ran his hand gently over the supple leather cover. The royal study had some books, courtesy of Thengel and Théoden, but these volumes were a great addition.

"You are welcome, brother", said Aragorn, smiling now that he saw his gift was well-received. "May they help you as you shape your own path as a king."

* * *

Sometimes, dressing in the royal regalia did not feel that different from putting on his armour. It could feel like getting ready for a different kind of battle. The tunic was deep forest green with gold and white embroideries – some of the best work he had ever seen – and the breeches soft and supple buckskin. The boots had been polished and oiled, the cloak brushed and aired. The golden circlet felt as heavy as it ever did, but not quite as foreign as on the first few times he had worn it. Only recently, its counterpart had been brought forth from the royal treasury and polished after decades of disuse. Some nastier voices had muttered it was a wonder Morwen Steelsheen had not taken the Queen's circlet with her to Gondor.

Once his sword was bound to his side, Éomer was ready. He took a deep breath and glanced down. It felt a bit like looking at someone else's body. Would a day ever come that he would feel comfortable wearing all this?

"You look marvellous, brother. If only Mother and Father were here to see this day!" said Éowyn from his side, and he turned to face her. She was radiant in her pale yellow gown, her long hair tumbling down freely, and a delicate gold circlet gleamed on her fair head. She had come to make sure he was ready for the wedding to start and was now carefully brushing non-existent wrinkles from his cloak.

"What would they make of their children, I wonder?" he asked her softly, knowing his smile must have become bittersweet.

"I'd like to think they would be proud", said Éowyn at length as he hand stopped on his shoulder. "Though the sad fact is, you knew them more than I ever did. Sometimes I can't remember Father's voice."

Somehow she looked guilty at this confession, and gently he reached his arm around her shoulders. It made sense she would have harder time recalling their Father; he had died so suddenly, but Mother's passing had been a slow torment for them all. The pain of it was sharply drawn in the memories of both orphans.

"That is no fault of yours, sister. I know Théoden was more a father to you than Éomund. I think his regret would be much greater than yours for never having a chance to know the woman you are now", he told her firmly.

"Do you think they can see us, wherever they are?" she asked him quietly as she pressed her head against his shoulder.

"I hope so. I'd like them to know everything turned out fairly well, in the end", he replied.

"Aye. All things considered, there is much we can rejoice in", she agreed and raised her head again. Her smile became lighter again as she patted his arm. "Now, get you going! Everybody's ready and waiting for the madness to start."

"Start? From where I'm standing, it looks like it never ceased", he commented, adjusting his sword-belt one more time, breathed deeply, and began to move.

On his way outside, and in the courtyard many folk of his household were gathered. Their faces were excited and glad, and many spoke their blessings when he passed by. Éomer met their looks with smiles, feeling his own thrill grow with theirs. This was a great day for them all.

Firefoot waited outside, his coat gleaming like never before, and there were many braids in his mane. The stallion seemed to sense the unusual mood and he pranced cockily, as if he had determined to get his fair share of all the attention. The King's Guard were arrayed in their best as well, their armour freshly polished and oiled, and their spears gleaming in the sun.

At his signal, the company rode forward, heralded by the royal standard. The great horns of the city were blown and with that, he felt his heart begin to race.

On the streets people were already gathering, waiting for when the King would ride back with his bride. A cheer swelled when he and his Riders rode through the capital, rising like a wave. The gates of the city were already open and on the battlement stood more people than he could count.

At the Amrothian part of the camp, his company was greeted by lines of Swan Knights in bright mail, their blue and silver banners swaying in the gentle breeze. Here among Gondorians, the mood was more solemn, perhaps echoing the grave loftiness of their stone halls. Everywhere Éomer looked, he could see wedding guests wearing silks and velvets, and jewels and gold shone on their necks and hands.

But when his company reached Imrahil's tent, he felt quite like leaping from the saddle and throwing himself at Lothíriel. She was not yet outside, but her family was there, again with the same company as a couple of days before. Aragorn and Faramir were beaming, and today Arwen's strange Elvish glow seemed to wrap around them all; Imrahil looked just as a father might on the day of his only daughter's wedding, but her brothers wore welcoming grins on their faces. The red on Amrothos' cheeks betrayed he had already been toasting for the health of the bridal couple – or maybe just making sure that the wedding mead was up to his high standards.

Éomer cast them all a bright smile. Then Éothain spoke in a strong voice as formality and tradition would require.

"King Éomer of Rohan has come to claim his bride, Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Will she go with him?" asked the Captain, and while his tone was loud and brisk, his face was beaming. Obviously, he took great pleasure in this moment.

"What say you, daughter?" asked Imrahil as he turned to face the tent.

Two Swan Knights lifted the cover at the tent's doorway. Then a figure in white and silver stepped out, almost aglow in bright sunlight.

"I will gladly go with the Lord of the Mark", replied the lady. It took Éomer a second to realise she was actually saying it in Rohirric!

He felt like his heart might just permanently relocate in his throat for the sheer wonder and ache at her loveliness. Her long, white gown was amply embroidered with bright silver that shone under the sun. The sleeves were wide and sheer, almost like a silver mist about her arms and hands. All her jewellery – a chain on her neck and the familiar bracelet on her wrist – consisted of pearls. Her hair fell freely down her shoulders, a stark contrast against the pale fabric, and on her head was a garland of spring flowers. She met his gaze boldly with her dear, knowing smile and her eyes were bright and glad. This here was not a timid bride, given to the king of northern barbarians as a token of good will and politics. Somehow, with her every step, she seemed to be declaring she herself had chosen this path.

He dismounted, somehow managing to steer himself straight and true, even though he simply wanted to collapse on his knees before her. What a wondrous thing. This woman half his size held him in the palm of her hand, and with a single word she could command him, or break his heart. Never had he thought to feel so soft for another, or so willingly vulnerable; the likes of Gríma Wormtongue had tried all evils to break him and yet such men would never overcome him like Lothíriel of Dol Amroth.

Ever so gently, he picked up her hands, cool and soft, yet she didn't seem to be cold in the chill of spring morning without her cloak.

"Will you ride with me?" he asked, so taken by emotion that he spoke Rohirric before he even realised it.

"I would be honoured", she replied in his tongue. Her accent betrayed she was not a native speaker of Rohirric, but she pronounced the words carefully, and her pitch was lower than when she spoke Westron or Sindarin.

Thankfully, no more words were required at this point. Feeling more than a little light-headed, he led her to Firefoot and helped her to mount the horse. She managed it despite her skirts, and what a sight she made on the top of the great stallion in her shining gown and flowers in her hair! So might Lady Læs herself appear, should she wish to ride with Béma on his great horse. Taking a deep breath, Éomer flung himself in the saddle behind her. Gently he wrapped his arm around her.

Knowing full well what an evocative picture this made to the Eorlingas present, he did not urge Firefoot to move right away. Indeed, a great cheer rose among his people. They did not see just their king and new queen, but also Béma and Læs, together renewing the land once more.

Éomer pressed his heels gently against the sides of his horse and Firefoot began to move. The stallion pranced like the finest court dancer, his mighty head held proudly, as if he was the one being observed by all. Lothíriel leaned confidently against her bridegroom without holding on to the horse, but Éomer held her tight. Even so, Firefoot knew not to let her fall.

For the first stretch of the ride, he was simply too overwhelmed with emotion to really appreciate the moment. So many faces lined their road to the gates of Edoras, and there on the streets of the capital waited countless people to see them pass. Cheering grew almost deafening and the road before them was paved with wild flowers, thrown there by the onlookers. But eventually he began to feel a little steadier, and when he did, he couldn't help but appreciate the feel of her slender body pressed against him. She sat there so easily, hands folded in her lap, or occasionally taking support of his chest.

It felt _right_.

The courtyard of Meduseld was packed with people, and there was only just space for the horses and stable-hands to take them. The cheering quieted a bit, turning into a slow murmur as the King dismounted first and then lifted down his bride. She gave her surroundings a sweeping glance, seemingly taking it all in at once – her new home.

Then Lothíriel put her hand on his arm, and together they began to descend the steps that lead to the twin doors of the Golden Hall. On the top of the stairs they met Éowyn, smiling brightly and holding in her hands a long woven ribbon. Next to her stood Erkenbrand. As the eldest female of the House of Eorl, and renowned in her own right, Éowyn was very much entitled to stand here with them, and Erkenbrand the Marshal, loyal and loved by the people, stood as the advocate of Rohirrim.

"Who are you, and why have you come to this place?" Éowyn asked, loud and steady.

"I am Éomer King of the Mark, and I bring to my home Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, to live as my wife", he replied evenly. Many times had he witnessed this ceremony, but never had it filled him with such a solemn, earnest feeling.

"I am Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, and I come to this house with Éomer King of the Mark, to take him as my husband", said Lothíriel, delivering the words with practised ease; her and Freola must have gone over it many times during the winter.

"Then let your hands be joined for all to see", said Erkenbrand, and Éomer turned to face his bride. He pressed her smaller hands inside his own, covering them completely. Lothíriel met his eyes with a soft smile. There was a blush on her cheeks, perhaps both from the chill and excitement, but her eyes were glad and shining.

Together, Éowyn and Erkenbrand began to wrap the long ribbon around their joined hands. As they did, they recited old prayers and blessings, and the longer they went on, the more their voices sounded like chanting. Down below in the courtyard, the audience was watching in commplete silence.

"I bless thee and bind thee, Lord Béma, protector of the land", Éowyn said, her voice bright and clear next to the Marshal's deeper tone.

"I bless thee and bind thee, Lady Læs, mistress of Spring and renewal", Erkenbrand spoke, and round and round their hands the ribbon went, until at last it ran out and the Marshal and Éowyn made a small loose knot on the top.

And so it was done. As far as Eorlingas were concerned, Lothíriel was now Éomer's wife. What a staggering thought it was, and how dizzyingly happy he felt! This was where his new life, his own family, started.

He bent down his head and kissed her for the first time as his wife, and she tiptoed into it, gasping softly against his lips. Only vaguely he was aware of Éowyn and Erkenbrand's voices:_ "Westu hal, Éomer Cyning! Westu hal, Lothíriel Cwen!" _

Other voices joined them, and some cheered in Westron or even in Sindarin. But he kissed her long, holding still her hands tight between his own, and she was short of breath and her eyes were dark when they finally broke apart. Éowyn cleared her throat, but when he glanced at her, his sister's eyes twinkled in gentle amusement.

"Done yet?" she asked pleasantly.

He kissed his wife again just to spite Éowyn.

* * *

After the handfasting, they stepped inside Meduseld at last. Lothíriel was not given a long moment to adjust, though her eyes surveyed the surroundings keenly and curiously. Most likely, she had already seen glimpses of this place, but he guessed it might be disorienting to actually perceive it with her waking eyes.

A table had been brought near the entrance and on it rested the marriage contracts, ready to be signed at last. Some of their witnesses were already waiting for them there, but others were coming inside just then: her father came with his trusted companions, and Éomer's own council along with some of the leading nobles of Rohan were present. All their eyes fixed on the bridal couple.

As right and sacred the handfasting had felt like, this was stiff and formal. While he signed the contract confidently, it still felt like he was putting his name under some kind of a business transaction – even if this was just it from the perspectives of his office and of Gondor. He took a small measure of comfort in seeing her sign her own name in flowing script next to his.

Then Lord Ormar stepped forward and lifted the contract, and he read it aloud for the council and witnesses. Éomer paid only passing attention to it: he was more busy admiring his bride, staring at the thick mass of her long dark hair, and wondering if the soft, pleasantly sweet scent around her came from the flowers, or if it were her perfume. She was seemingly trying to listen to Ormar, but every now and then she cast her new husband a look that was a mixture between amusement, exasperation and reproach.

It seemed to take forever to read the contract, and close to the end of it Éomer was sorely tempted to shake the man and tell him to hurry up. Ormar appeared to sense his impatience and cast him a stern look from under his eyebrows. When at last he finished, the company around them gave a mighty cheer.

With a beaming smile, Éomer regarded his advisers and the company of nobles of the land.

"My lords and ladies, it is my pleasure to introduce you Lothíriel, Queen of the Mark", he announced, turning to look at the woman by his side. Her face was solemn but friendly as she nodded her head.

"I greet you all, and thank you for joining us on this joyous day. I am honoured to stand before you as the consort of your king; and in whatever humble way I may assist him in guiding the fortunes of the Riddermark, I shall attempt it", she said, her voice clear and strong, and her Rohirric confidently delivered. Then she repeated the same words in Westron, courtesy of her father and his Gondorian companions, who did not understand the tongue of Eorlingas.

How proud he was of her! Such queenly grace could not be forced – one had to naturally possess it. Though Éomer was more than little giddy with her excellent presentation, he still kept a sharp eye on the faces before them. Many appeared suitably pleased with how the new queen had addressed them, but there were some whose doubtful look did not subside. Eadwig was among these.

For the moment, he did not worry. She would win them over sooner or later. So he offered her his arm and led her forward, introducing the new queen to the lords and ladies of the land one by one. It went fairly well: even if there were some misgivings, all maintained a polite front and addressed Lothíriel with all due respect. Her demeanour remained calm and smiling and only once did he sense anything different from her. When they were face to face with Eadwig, she suddenly pressed Éomer's arm harder than before, though her expression did not change in the slightest. It certainly made him curious, but he knew he had to wait for a more private moment to ask her.

At last they had greeted the whole company of advisers, lords and ladies. Éomer let out a deep breath. It had felt much like passing the muster of an old and critical captain. Glancing at Lothíriel, he wondered if she had felt the same, even if never once had her features betrayed any uncertainty.

But now was to follow the slightly less formal part, and so he offered her his arm again, and they made their way to the dais, where their seats were prepared. This moment gave a brief chance for exchanging some words.

"When we met Lord Eadwig, you clutched my arm hard. Why did you?" he asked her in a low voice as they approached the dais.

A slight crease appeared on her brow.

"I thought I recognised him. I think I may have seen him before", she replied softly. He didn't need to ask for her meaning.

"In a good or a bad way?" he wanted to know as he waited for her to take a seat. He undid his ceremonial cloak – a beautiful but damnably heavy thing – and carefully released it into the waiting arms of his steward, who would probably send it back to the King's rooms like some kind of a relic to be protected at all costs.

"I'm not sure", she said, and then seeing his look, smiled slightly before continuing, "What I see doesn't always make sense even to me."

He sat down as well, glancing about the hall. Long tables were set and they were only moments away for when guests would begin to pour in.

"Well, at least I do know why he wasn't most enthused by meeting you. He thinks his daughter should be sitting next to me today", Éomer muttered under his breath.

"Yes, I could see it in his eyes. He doesn't look at me kindly. Yet I do not think his blood will soon sit on the throne of Rohan", Lothíriel said very quietly, eyes veiled.

He looked at her sharply, and would have had half a dozen things to say, but right that moment guests began to stream inside. For the better part of next hour, he and his new queen were met with countless guests from both Rohan and Gondor. Eadwig's daughter Guthild was among the guests, and she greeted the King and Queen without any hint of hostility. Though Éomer was watching Lothíriel from the corner of his eye, her look did not change. She had a way of seeing into people's hearts, but seemingly found nothing alarming in Guthild's.

Slowly the hall filled as guests took seats in the long tables, and steadily the murmur of many voices rose. At last the final pair of guests had found their seats. Then Éowyn came with a golden cup of bridal mead, and she was beaming at her brother when she offered the cup to him. He rose to take it, and lifting the cup in toast he welcomed all the guests to the feast and gave thanks both on his own and Lothíriel's behalf.

He gave the first taste of mead to her and she sipped it carefully, leaving for him over more than half of the contents. When Éomer had drained the cup, their guests raised their own drinks as well. So began the feast.

At this point, Éomer certainly had developed a healthy appetite, and was glad to see Lothíriel showed no signs of turning into a jittery bride; she curiously tried this and that dish, savouring the smell as well as the taste. If any kitchen staff were watching her reactions, as he was sure they were, they would probably bear word to their peers that the new queen was not picky over Rohirric fare. Although to be fair, the opulence of food brought to the tables, the vats of roasted meat, potatoes smothered in butter and herbs, fresh loaves of bread, various sorts of pies both sweet and savoury, berry tarts and sugary sweets, vegetables in different assortments, small fluffy honey cakes, at least ten different kinds of cheese, and even a few trays of baked fish, was rather the exception to the rule. Even in Meduseld there had been some lean times especially in that first winter after the Ring War, but the cooks of the royal household had not lost their skill: everything he tasted was delicious and delightful.

"How do you like Meduseld so far?" he asked her now that most guests were content with the plates of food before them, and further entertainment was not yet required.

"It is even more wonderful than I had thought – and so different from my father's castle by the sea. There are so many beautiful and intriguing things here, I have to remind myself not to go and explore", she told him with a smile.

"I'll give you a tour as soon as possible, but we may have to wait until after the guests have left. I don't expect we'll be left much alone for the coming days, unless we are in our own rooms", he said and quietly considered whether they could just barricade themselves in the King's chambers. The thought was attractive.

"Hmm. Well, at least there's one place in this Hall where I get to have you for myself", she said casually, seemingly unaware of how thrilling such a statement could be. He swallowed hard, reminding himself it was hours still before it was considered polite for them to retire.

So he took a hearty gulp of his ale, cleared his throat and decided to keep things on the more formal side for the time being.

"I trust Éowyn sent people to fetch your things? At least she was saying she would yesterday", he said, idly noting conversations in the hall were growing a bit louder at this point.

Lothíriel nodded.

"She did. Few of your own knights appeared to carry my travel chests to Meduseld only this morning. They said those would be taken to the Queen's rooms?" she said, casting a quizzical look at him.

"Aye, your things will be waiting there. Your rooms are next to mine, and there's only a door between. You won't have to sneak around in dark hallways in the middle of night", he reassured her. He didn't mind who he ran across in his own hall, and what state he was in at the time, but by her expression he guessed she had more modesty than him in that regard.

"That is relieving. Otherwise, I might get lost", she quipped, taking a small sip of her mead and leaning back in her chair.

"Is it even possible for you to not know where you are going?" he asked her half-seriously.

She looked at him as if he had just asked something with the most obvious answer in the world.

"I find my way better than most – usually", she simply said and drank some more mead.

Now most guests had had their fill, and many were leaning back in their seats after a mighty effort of eating the King of Rohan out of house. Ale, mead and wine continued to flow, and on one side, a group of musicians were now trying out small tunes. A merry mood could be felt in the hall and not even the likes of Eadwig seemed presently intent on dampening the atmosphere. A sense of contentment came over Éomer. He was in his own hall, surrounded by friends, and next to him was his wife. It was true, what his friends had told him: happiness consists of simple things in the end.

"Fancy taking a turn around the hall? I'd like to stretch my legs a bit", he asked her, putting aside his now empty cup and holding his hand above it when a servant moved to fill it.

"Why not? I'm starting to feel a little stiff, too", she agreed and put down her own cup as well.

Arms linked they walked by the long tables, and were honoured by many cheers and toasts especially by Eorlingas; there were even a few wolf-whistles, but he directed one of his more chilling looks at any who did so. Not that he expected Lothíriel to be dismayed by this uncouth manner – she was remarkably resilient in that regard – but some respect was due to the new queen.

There were also moments to pierce one's heart. One was when they stopped by her father, and Imrahil rose up to embrace his daughter. There was a look on his face Éomer had never seen before, a joy mixed with poignant sadness. He could only wonder what it felt like, parting with one's youngest child – the one that Imrahil must have thought of so sorely in the need of protection. Abruptly it hit him what it must have cost Imrahil to let this happen, and what it still demanded of him.

But Lothíriel smiled and whispered some words to her father, and this seemed to be enough for the time being. She tugged Éomer's arm gently, and so they began to move again.

"Will your father be all right?" he asked her quietly.

"In time", she replied in a soft voice. "Soon enough he will recall what he had with my mother, and that ultimately, he wishes I could have it too. He never thought I would."

There was nothing he could really say to that, nor did he really have a chance; they came across Erkenbrand and his daughter Alfwen, the tall Shieldmaiden. The Marshal was glad to introduce her to the new queen and for a while, Éomer and Erkenbrand pretended to have a conversation while spying whether the two women were getting along or not. At first, it looked like both were measuring the other, and it was a little amusing in a certain way, for the contrast between them was so great. It was hard to imagine two women more different, with lives so very dissimilar. But then Alfwen noticed the bracelet on Lothíriel's wrist, she smiled, and a fairly pleasant conversation started between the two.

When they moved forward again to meet more of their guests, Lothíriel leaned closer to him and whispered, "I liked her, just as I thought I would. I've seen her before, and I think she's going to be my guard."

He blinked. At times, it still took him aback to hear her announce things that had not yet happened. On the other hand, Lothíriel and Alfwen were certainly two people he had never imagined having anything to do with one another. But what did he know? Their talk, brief as it was, had been perfectly amiable. Maybe there was potential for a lasting friendship.

"I'll ask if she'd like to stay after the celebrations", he said at length, already wondering what Alfwen would make of such a request, not to mention Erkenbrand. However, if the Shieldmaiden was as serious about following in her father's footsteps, serving as the Queen's own guard would certainly help her on that path.

Lothíriel smiled and quickly kissed his cheek. To himself, Éomer considered that actually living with this woman was going to take some getting used to, if she declared her prophecies so confidently and often.

Continuing their walk, they met with a few small groups already in the middle of games Eorlingas were so fond of, word puzzles and riddles and the sort, but they did not follow these for long. Lothíriel's Rohirric was not yet good enough to keep up with trick questions and word plays, even if she looked like she might have wanted to try it out nevertheless.

It was not long that Éomer noticed a few expectant looks thrown their way, and he was quick to observe their reason. The band of musicians were now ready, tables had been cleared, and there was some more ceremony to be performed.

So he bent his head closer to hers, and whispered, "What would you say to some dancing?"

"In the front of all these people?" she asked back doubtfully.

"I'm afraid so. It's an old wedding dance, accompanied by a song. I believe men and women of our household have been practising it for weeks. It's... a bit hard to explain, but it's supposed to bless the marriage, and to ensure it is fruitful. You'll understand later", he replied, choosing his words carefully, though he knew it was not that easy to insult her sense of propriety. He didn't mention that in the older version, the one common folk usually performed, the bridal couple would have to be much more drunk than he and Lothíriel were. Although in his opinion it rather defeated the purpose if both the bride and the bridegroom were on the brink of passing out.

"Well, we've been performing since the morning, so I suppose a little more won't hurt" she said and allowed him to lead her to the centre of the hall, where empty space had been cleared for them. Members of the royal household stood there in line, and others gathered around to watch. Eorlingas murmured among themselves excitedly, but Gondorians observed the scene with some curiosity.

"I will have to stand very close to you, but at this point I expect your father and brothers will have no issue with it", he whispered to his bride. She smiled wryly.

"Yes, one would hope so", she agreed, and met his eyes steadily as he closed her left hand in his own and pulled her close to himself by the waist. She was a little to his side, so that her hip was against his.

"I don't know the steps", she said a little bit worriedly, but he smiled in reassurance.

"Don't worry about it. Just follow my lead", he told her, and then he could already hear the first beats of the drum, the hands clapping rhythmically, and many feet stomping the ground.

It started like so, the drum accompanying the voices of people. Both the men and the women were now singing a low, almost monotonous tune. He stood still, and Lothíriel did so as well, her look curious and expecting. As strangely repetitive the start of the song was, there was something hypnotic about it – the sound was like a heartbeat. Then suddenly one clear female voice rose above others, and as though by instinct Lothíriel knew it was the sign, and so she practically leapt to action in time with him.

The tune changed entirely into a quick and lively song, which was very much reflected by the dance. The steps were essentially simple, but the dance itself was rather sensual even in Rohirric standards. There was a lot of contact between the partners, and even without understanding the words, one would have no uncertainty what it was about. Éomer did not worry about how it might be perceived by the guests who were not Rohirrim. In fact, most he was aware of was the music and the woman dancing with him. There was something overwhelming, intoxicating even, about the supple way she responded. And when the song grew more vigorous, so did their movements, and the air around them was thick with the smell of flowers and fragile petals falling off, disturbed by the sheer force of their dancing. At first her look was concentrated, her movement calculated, but then the song began to take over, and she was no longer performing for anybody except maybe for herself and him. As it should be.

He could only imagine how the dance would feel like if one were considerably more drunk on mead and ale.

The song faded with the single female voice and the dance ended with a lift – he raised his bride high by the waist, and then let her slide down against him, until she was still half in the air and he was supporting her against himself with just one arm. They were both breathing heavily, her cheeks were flushed, and she was staring at him with a heady look in her eyes. Around them the cheering and whooping had grown almost deafening, but he paid the audience little attention still.

For a moment neither of them seemed to be able to talk, although the crowd was already moving around them, and the musicians were starting another tune. At last he was able to let her down and back on her own feet.

"That... was something", Lothíriel uttered at last, hands still against his chest. "Are all Rohirric dances like that?"

"Some are", said Éomer in a low, hoarse voice. How soft she was, and how easily she leaned against him!

"Well, I do hope you won't be dancing other ladies like so, even if it makes me sound like a jealous prude", she said, seemingly trying to overcome her outburst of feeling by wry humour.

He made a coarse sound in his throat.

"I have no such intentions, wife mine", he told her and took a deep breath. It was not yet the time to retire, no matter how the dance had roused them both. Béma, would the evening ever come? Even looking at her was a trouble – he simply wanted to pick her up, toss her over his shoulder and leave this endlessly continuing feast for the rest of the day and night, damned be whatever anybody thought of it.

She met his gaze evenly, most likely reading his heart and mind like she always did, and said in a shaky voice, "Do you think it's possible to get something to drink in this crowd? Dancing is thirsty work, I find."

"Finding drink in Meduseld is more likely than you think", he said, still struggling to keep his calm. At least her request gave him an objective to focus on for the time being.

They made their way back towards the dais, but going was not quick or straightforward, as several Rohirrim stopped them and congratulated them for the excellent dance. Lothíriel looked a little flustered by this attention, and the fact that dancing in such a bold way before a crowd might be considered a good thing, but he decided he was glad if it had made a good impression. After today there would be less comparison between the new queen and Morwen Steelsheen.

At last they reached the King's table. There they found cups and pitchers filled with ale, mead and wine. Lothíriel reached for some water, though; a wise choice, which he decided to go for as well. Passions were still high after the dance and there were a few hours to go yet.

"How did I do?" she asked him after emptying a full cup of water. Her glance at where a new dance had started revealed her meaning.

"You were wonderful. For the duration of that dance, there existed no other woman in the whole world", he told her in earnest.

"Oh dear. I do hope my father wasn't watching too closely", she said, cheeks growing red again. She took another huge gulp of water.

"Well, even if he disapproves, he can take it up with me, for you're my wife now", he stated firmly and pulled her close to his side.

"Indeed I am. Though I am still having hard time believing it", she said, settling comfortably next to him – taking that place with such ease and naturalness that one might think they had been married for ten years instead of just one afternoon.

"Likewise", he muttered, leaned close, and kissed her for a while, never minding any of the cheers or whooping that it roused once more among their guests.

It was a happy night in the Golden Hall. Few times in his years had Éomer seen the place so full of truly joyous people: no shadow lay on the days ahead and the merrymaking did not hold the desperate tinge of trying to enjoy life while it was still possible. Songs were played and sung, dancing would continue late into the night, and laughter rose and fell freely among the guests. As the celebration went on, even some of the usually stiff and proper Gondorians began to loosen up. Here and there dark heads bent close to fair-haired ones as peoples mixed together. Amrothos conducted more than just one drinking game, and everywhere there was a warm sense of friendship and camaraderie. Éowyn happily joined him for a dance, radiating joy on his behalf, though she couldn't resist the chance of lecturing him on the subject of how to treat his new wife. All three of Imrahil's sons renewed their threat of _"__be good to her or else". _

As for Lothíriel, she was currently twirling around with Lord Ormar, who now proved himself to be quite the dancer, rivalling even some of the finest of Gondor's royal court. But the young queen was still smiling and radiant after a long day of being everybody's business. At this point, her garland had vanished – the flowers had at last wilted – but there were still stray petals and buds stuck in her long hair, which tumbled freely down her shoulders. If ever had a woman worn the likeness of Lady Læs, it was her.

With these thoughts in his mind, Éomer came to stand next to Imrahil. For much of the wedding feast, he had rather looked to be observing than partaking. He held a cup of wine in his hand as he watched the dancers. and his expression was distant. Before the young king spoke, it occurred to him that he was now looking at his father-in-law. It was a strange thought, even if he and Imrahil had been friends ever since the war. Ties of family were different, though, and there was responsibility in being the husband of a beloved daughter that Éomer had not known simply as a friend of Prince of Dol Amroth.

"Is all well, Imrahil? You seem lost in thought", he observed carefully. All through these celebrations, it had been clear the Prince of Dol Amroth had not given his daughter's hand in marriage easily.

Imrahil seemed to startle, but then a slight smile appeared on his noble features.

"Forgive me – I did not notice you", he said sheepishly. It was rare to catch this man unawares, and Imrahil seemed to realise this too.

"It is fine. It's quite a crowd", Éomer commented and gave a sweeping glance at the guests around them. Most were now merrily into their cups and feasting. He and Lothíriel would probably be able to make their exit soon enough.

He looked at his friend again, "I hope this day has not been too difficult for you."

Imrahil's look was bittersweet.

"It is what it is. But I see the way my daughter smiles, and I think it is worth everything", he said softly, and so his eyes were drawn to her again. She was now at Elfhelm's arm, laughing at something the Marshal had said.

The Prince watched the two of them for a moment before adding, "She fits in here better than I imagined."

"I'm glad to hear you think so", Éomer said, and for a moment they were silent. Seconds went by as he hesitated. He had sought Imrahil out with a purpose, but was this the right place to say the words? On the other hand, would a better time ever come?

So he breathed deeply, and he said it quietly so that only Imrahil heard him, "She's told me about herself – about the things she sees."

Imrahil looked at him sharply, alarmed and worried. Éomer lifted his hand on his friend's shoulder and continued, "Do not worry. She is safe with me, for I am the wise fool."

The Prince of Dol Amroth stared at him for a long moment in silence. Alarm gave way to wonder, and then at last to something like acceptance. Then a slight smile appeared.

"How extraordinary. Do you know, it does make a strange kind of sense", Imrahil said at last and shook his head.

"Aye. I'm starting to see it now, too", Éomer conceded.

Imrahil let out a breath. Around them, the music and the laughter rose, but in this moment it all felt a hundred years away.

"She told me so before, of course. But I suppose a part of me always doubted and wondered – if she had put these words somehow in your mouth, not out of deceit but because she wished so badly them to be true. For all her wisdom and all her gifts, my daughter is still as anyone… aching to be loved and understood", said Imrahil slowly, looking at his daughter. Then he turned his gaze at Éomer again, "It's different to hear it from you. That you say these words, with this confidence, means that you understand. And she saw it all rightly, once again."

"Whatever it means, I do not know. But whatever gifts your daughter has, I did not ask to marry her because of them", said Éomer gravely.

"No, you wouldn't", Imrahil agreed. He gave the Rohir a stern, level stare. "Even if it doesn't matter to you, you have not married an ordinary woman. This you must remember in coming days. But I suspect you knew it from the start... there's some fate about you and her that I can feel, even if I do not have my daughter's gift. May it be a good one, as you deserve. And as she deserves."

"I do not know about fate. I'd rather shape it myself. Is that a strange thing to say for a man who has just married a woman who sees the future?" asked Éomer.

Now his father-in-law smiled faintly and put his hand on the shoulder of the King of Rohan.

"No, I don't think so. If it means anything, perhaps it is that she has chosen the right man."

* * *

Soon after his talk with Imrahil, Éomer and Lothíriel retired. The sun was setting outside and the celebrations were at the peak in Meduseld and everywhere in Edoras. Tonight, the sky could fall upon the capital of Rohan and nobody would notice. Lothíriel had given her sign to her maid and Leofrun by producing a handkerchief and meticulously folding it over and over. Then the two women had appeared as if from nowhere and whisked her away. Éomer himself had asked only Éothain to accompany him.

They shared one final drink in the front room of the King's chambers. The bedroom would be made ready – bed clothes pulled back, a low fire to keep away the chill of spring night, and bits of choice things from the feast in case the bridal couple fancied a late snack. He thought of Lothíriel in the Queen's rooms, seeing them for the first time and knowing these would be hers for decades to come. Was she nervous? Happy? Did she like her new home – and feel like it was a place she could build her new life?

Soon enough Éothain perceived he was not needed anymore. His king was too distracted at the moment to be of use to anybody but the new queen. Not to mention, the feast still went on and there was a rare collection of veterans of the Ring War gathered for it. It was clear where the best company was to be found. After downing his drink and congratulating the new husband once more, Éothain left.

Éomer took a deep breath and listened for a moment. The bedchamber was yet quiet, but further away he could hear the sounds of feast going on. Obviously, the guests were not bothered by the fact that the King and Queen had vanished.

He left most of his clothes neatly folded on a chair nearby, knowing Leofrun would give him an earful if they were found messily discarded and wrinkly. He tied a deep green robe around himself – a piece of clothing he rarely used, but Lothíriel probably did not expect him to parade in stark naked. While she had not seemed nervous before, her mind might have changed by now. And more than anything, he wanted her to feel safe and comfortable.

At last Éomer heard the sound he had been waiting for: the door opened in the King's bedroom and he knew she had just stepped inside. A shiver went down his spine and with one long stride, he reached the door between the front room and the bedchamber.

It was true he had imagined this moment many times before now, and fantasised about it rigorously. His wife finally with him, alone and away from the prying eyes of the world. For a long time, the idea of having a wife – of being a husband – had been but an abstract concept for him, difficult to imagine and vaguely unpleasant to accomplish. _She_ had made it into an attractive, hopeful prospect.

Lothíriel was standing in the centre of the room, her eyes slowly taking in her surroundings: the big four-poster bed, the soft glow of fire and candles, the rich tapestries on the walls, his polished armour piled on a tall stand, few personal objects here and there... in the same moment, she both seemed to belong to this picture, and yet was somehow an alien sight. She was dressed in a light shift and a soft blue dressing gown. Her long dark hair had been carefully brushed so that no more flowers were in it. The bracelet remained, as ever, on her wrist.

Something very strange throbbed and grew in his chest. He felt weak with tenderness for her, and so glad he wanted to both weep and laugh. For once, everything was _so right_. All those years of struggle and lonely toil now made sense, and he would go through it all again, knowing this was in store for him.

Her grey eyes met his own, and somehow she looked both so young and yet so wise. She stood with her shoulders back, hands clasped loosely before her, and she was smiling. He could see no trace of nervousness on her features or in her posture. A little bit dazedly he thought: _There's no one like her in the world._

"How beautiful you are", Éomer managed to speak, though his voice came out low and hoarse. His hands burned to touch her, to push her back to the bed and have her right now. But he banished that thought quickly. His wife was to be loved and cherished, and treated with care and respect.

A soft blush appeared on her cheeks.

"Please, dear. I'm trying not to just throw myself at you, and there you stand being like _that_..." she said, making a vague gesture at him and leaving it unclear just how he was being. But he could guess.

He swallowed hard. Yes, she was right: there was no reason to rush. They had the whole night ahead of them.

"In that case, would you like to drink something?" he asked her. Passions were certainly running high at the moment, but a bit of wine might help.

"Yes please", she agreed, and he made way to the table, where a pitcher and a light snack for the night was laid out. He poured the drinks and offered a cup to her. She accepted it with a smile and then cast a look around, as though unsure of what to do with herself now.

"Please, take a seat", he hurried to say. Without a further ado, Lothíriel went and sat down on the edge of the bed. He swallowed hard and prayed for strength when she patted the spot next to herself in invitation.

He couldn't well refuse, and so he went and sat down by her side, aching to touch her but knowing better than to allow himself too much contact. He had slept in this bed for more nights than he could count now, but it was in fact the very first night a woman was to share it with him. And not just any woman, but his wife; not just any wife thrown at him by his council, but Lothíriel.

She cast him a smile and then looked down; there was a most delightful colour on her cheeks. He realised he must have been staring at her very directly and brazenly, and even if she was not acting anxious, this was a new and strange situation for her.

"You know, we don't have to do anything tonight if you don't feel ready", Éomer said eventually. No matter how much he wanted to be with her, fulfil certain desires that at this point were near agonising, he needed to give her a chance to back out and breathe. For weeks now, her life had been in a complete tumult, and these past few days had been total madness. If she felt tired, or just unready, then he needed to let her say it.

She raised her eyes again and shook her head. There was a gentle smile on her features.

"Nonsense. I wish to be your wife in every sense of the word, and is it not my duty to conceive as soon as possible?" she asked him calmly.

He almost grimaced.

"I would like you to think of our marriage bed as more than that."

She put her hand on his own and pressed his fingers.

"I do, but we both know there are many who consider this my first and foremost obligation to you and the people", Lothíriel said evenly.

"Maybe, but I'd rather not think of it tonight, even if everyone else is. Just... may we not be simply a man and a woman taking joy in being together?" he asked, and at his words, her expression softened.

"We may be that, absolutely", she agreed and put aside her cup. Her fingers now curled about his own, and she looked at him in a way that he felt in his very bones. He could see trust and invitation and acceptance – that whatever happened next, it was because they both wanted it.

He put down his drink as well, and then lifted a careful hand to her cheek. Ever so gently, he brushed back the lock of hair that rested there, and ran his fingers through her unbearably soft tresses. He almost didn't dare to put his hands on her again, as if his touch might somehow mar this loveliness he saw before himself.

But Lothíriel leaned into the touch, pushing first her cheek against the palm of his hand, and then her lips in a tender little kiss. And that kiss broke whatever spell had been on him. He moved closer to her and brought his mouth eagerly to hers.

So it went on for a while, tentative at first and then increasingly bold as hands took part in the deed. She grasped his hair in a way that could only be called greedy, and then her fingers trailed down, finding the edges of his robe and curiously brushed just inside.

He pulled back so that he could meet her eyes. Both his hands were on her shoulders, but her chest was rising and falling faster than normal, and there was so much that he wanted to explore... he glanced at the robe and decided it had become unnecessary.

"May I?" he asked her hoarsely, and Lothíriel nodded. In a quick tug he undid the belt and she wriggled out of the garment. Underneath she wore a sleeveless shift so light and sheer, he almost could see through it. He couldn't decide whether this frustrated or excited him.

Her breathing hitched when he pressed both his hands against her. The soft roundness of her breasts, the gentle curves of her hips, the supple warmth of her thighs... he was rather preoccupied examining these marvellous things and so didn't notice her working at his robe until she was already attempting to push it back. How anything could be done in this tangle of excited hands and fingers without collisions and fumbling, he couldn't clearly say.

Éomer shrugged the garment off, glad to be rid of the thing. He would have leant to kiss her again, but then he took notice of the way she was watching him, and he recalled he was most likely the first naked man she had ever seen. Indeed, her eyes studied every inch of him, eager and fascinated, and lingering especially long in the region of his stomach and below. Perhaps it was an absurd consideration, but he thought of her regarding him with that same keen scrutiny that would have her escort halt in the middle of countryside so that she could examine some herb she had spotted by the side of the road.

"Do you like what you see?"

"... yes, I do", she replied. She met his eyes with such a bold look that he felt like he might just go mad with want for her.

He took a few deep breaths to keep calm. No matter how alluring she was, he could not lose his grip.

"Good to know", he said, low under his breath, and then drew her again into a kiss.

It grew more and more heated. He felt like some kind of an intoxication was growing on him, fuelled by the smell and feel of her hair and her skin. He craved more of it, and when his hands impatiently tugged at the hems of her shift, she was quick to assist. With a careless movement, he tossed the soft garment away, not minding where it landed. And Béma! How beautiful was his bride!

"Please. I need your skin against mine", she uttered. Her voice was lower and huskier than he had ever heard it before, and her eyes blazed with a heady, urgent light.

He was glad to comply. With a deep growl, he pushed her back on the bed and followed swiftly suit. Her arms gripped him tight, as though she had decided never to let go. What bliss! Her skin was something unimaginable, so soft and warm and supple. The mere touch of it against his own made him almost painfully hard, and she looked at him in anticipation and perhaps a hint of anxiety. He studied her momentarily, even if clear thought was extremely difficult at the moment, and her tentative smile confirmed his suspicion. That anxiety he saw did not mean she was second-guessing – it was merely standing before something that she had never experienced before. Interesting circumstance for one with foresight, and it almost made him smile. So it was with particular glee that he directed his attention on her cheek, the sensitive skin just below her ear, and then the earlobe itself. His wife trembled at the touch of his lips, her hands growing unsteady. She gasped softly when he began to move downward, trailing his way with everything he had. There a spot may get but a brush of lips, and then hint of a tongue, and at last the sudden grasp of teeth. The further he moved from her neck to her breasts and below, the more frequent her little whimpers grew.

It was half the pleasure, watching her slip more and more out of control. Most of the time she saw much further ahead than others did, and met things calmly as they came. At length she was almost writhing under his merciless touch, and calling him in some rather ludicrous names. His own need now became unbearable.

Lothíriel barely seemed to notice it when he shifted, but when he positioned his hips against hers and moved forward with one deep thrust, her eyes popped open. She gasped out loud. It was the most endearingly comical thing – this complete astonishment on the face of the woman who so rarely was surprised by anything.

"Are you all right?" he asked, even though he might have enquired himself that same thing. Béma! He could not have imagined beforehand the sublime softness of her, or the wondrous way their very shapes seemed to meld – as though this was how it was meant to be. He nearly wept with wonder and joy and love for her.

"... I think so", she whispered, clutching his shoulders in breathless shock.

For a moment, he remained there motionless, although her closeness and the feel of her body beckoned to simply lose himself in this moment. Her hair was open and tangled, thanks to his eager hands, her eyes were bright and wide, and her lips swollen. The light from candles and fire danced across her skin like a living thing. Here was beauty so profound it might pierce a man's heart.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked roughly. "Please don't ask me to stop."

She made a strange little sound in her throat.

"I forbid it, Sire. I'm a queen now, you must obey me", she uttered with some difficulty, but still retaining her sense of humour.

A rumbling chuckle made its way through his clenched teeth, and he couldn't bear it – he had to kiss her again. Shakily at first, she responded to the kiss, until at length he could feel her relaxing in his arms. Now that she had grown easier, he dared to move again.

All the world now narrowed into this small instance. There was just movement of limbs and bodies against one another, mouths gasping either for air or a kiss, and touch was the primary sense ruling the universe. Meduseld could have come crashing down around them and Éomer would not have noticed. Air grew warm around them and he could feel sweat trickling down his neck. Then her legs, tightly wound around his hips, tensed hard against him, she let out a cry; she became mellow in his arms, trembling in waves of aftershock. It was a wonder that he had lasted this long, and soon enough he too was spent – pressing into her for one last desperate plunge, and seeing sparks fly behind his eyelids.

Heavily, in a movement that was more collapse than anything, he rolled off to her side. Soon enough he felt her shuffling next to him and so he raised his arm; she curled up against him with a contented sigh. They were both sweaty and hot, but right now he could not think of a better arrangement.

Eventually, when both had caught their breath, she raised her head and smiled.

"That was interesting", she stated. Her voice still had a low, warm, husky quality he had not heard until now.

Éomer let out a soft laugh.

"I would surely hope so", he told her and lifted his head enough to give her a lingering kiss. She supported herself partly on her elbow, partly on his chest. Now there was a warmth and familiarity in the kiss unlike before; they were truly husband and wife.

"Thoughts on marriage so far?" he asked her when she had settled down again, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Mmm. Ask me again tomorrow, and I may be able to say something coherent", Lothíriel replied lazily.

"Fair enough. I think I like it, though", he said, idly running his fingers across her arm. Her skin was starting to cool off a bit, which made her shuffle even closer. She pushed her leg between his and wrapped her arm tight around his chest.

"Can I sleep here tonight? You feel so nice and warm."

"... it's amazing that you even think I might allow you to leave this bed before the morning."

_"... my lord." _

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Phew, that was quite a lot of words right there! I assume you know now why it took some time to finish this chapter. I wanted to explore their wedding day in detail, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I admit I thought of splitting it in two chapters, but decided against it: the events of this chapter so clearly form one whole, and there was no good place where to cut it.

Anyway, it was fun to write this chapter, no matter how much time it took! At last they are together and able to start this new life with one another - which I think we have all been waiting for. It's always great to write Éomer being happy! As ever, it was interesting to imagine Rohirric wedding customs. I had this idea that the King and Queen's marriage also symbolises the union of Oromë (Béma) and Vána (Læs).

Their wedding dance is partly inspired by a song by Wardruna called Lyfjaberg. Particularly the start has this hypnotic mood that I imagined their wedding dance would also have (though I don't think it much resembles the rest of the song Lyfjaberg). I very much recommend listening to it, and other Wardruna songs, too!

As always, your reviews and favourites are very much appreciated. Let me know what you think!

* * *

Inspiration for the chapter: Anathema - The Lost Song Pt. 1

* * *

**EStrunk -** Glad you liked it! The journey probably had boring parts, but Éomer was too happy to be with his bride and his friends to really notice it! :D It was interesting to show her gifts a little bit more, but how to explain that thing to Éothain may be a difficult task.

**fantasticferret - **Thank you! I always enjoy delving more into her character. I hope you liked the wedding!

**Boramir - **Interesting thoughts, as always! I really wish I could comment on them more, but I don't want to give away too much. At any rate, you're probably right to assume that Eadwig wouldn't risk open conflict with Éomer.

**Simplegurl4u -** Glad you liked it! Indeed, it's interesting to explore the way their relationship is growing, and the way her gifts affect it.

You're quite right - she's more than willing to aid in ensuring that his line continues! ;)

**Leilal - **Hope you liked it!

**Jo - **Thank you!

**Wondereye - **Glad you liked it! I'm afraid at the moment Éothain remains very much in the dark about her gifts, but we'll see how it goes!

**sailor68 - **Happy to hear it! Aragorn can certainly be high and lofty when he needs to, but I don't think he's without a sense of humour, or unwilling to help a brother out, if you get what I mean! ;)

**LH Wordsmith - **I'm so glad people liked my take on mischievous Aragorn! I'm rather happy about that little bit, too. And I love your take that he's an absolute troll. :D

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx -** Thank you!

**almythea - **Thanks! Glad you liked it!

**NightBlossom - **Thank you! I do hope you continue to like this story, too. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 16**

It was late when Lothíriel finally passed out next to him. She didn't even stir when he briefly got up to blow out the candles and add some wood to keep the fire going. Éomer himself had no intention of staying up any longer: he too was very tired, though pleasurably so. With a mighty yawn, he returned to her side, arranged blankets and furs so that his wife wouldn't get cold during the night, and settled down. For a little while he watched her, basking in the sweetness of the moment, but soon his eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. With a contented sigh, he wound his arm around her and let sleep come.

It was light in the bedchamber when he slowly came around again. Usually, he rose at dawn. But perhaps after the past few days' madness, and especially last night, sleeping this late was reasonable.

When his eyes fluttered open, he saw he was being watched. Lothíriel was facing him, both hands under her cheek, and she regarded him with a slight smile on her face. At first he felt disoriented. Lothíriel in his bed, apparently naked? Seemed too good to be true. But then he recalled it was the morning after their wedding, and she had every business of being in this situation with him.

The morning after the wedding. Béma, they were actually married!

"Good morning", she whispered when she saw he was awake, evidently oblivious to his confused musings.

"Good morning to you as well", he replied, his voice gravelly with sleep. She made a soft, contented sound when he moved closer to kiss her, long and tender. That, at least, finally cleared any doubt of whether this was a dream or not.

She moved her fingers across the side of his face, brushing away a stray lock of tangled hair. He could only imagine which one of them looked more wild and haggard after last night's revelries.

"I was watching you sleep for a while. You look nice when you're so oblivious to the world. Softer, somehow", she murmured, but if she had hoped for a nice little conversation, she was to be disappointed. At this point, he had finally woken up and come to terms with certain excellent facts about their marital status, and it was simply too many hours since he had last kissed her properly.

In a swift movement he turned his wife on her back and covered her slighter form with his own.

"Is that soft now?" he growled against her mouth.

She gasped in surprise, but was quick to adjust herself, and to wrap her own body around his.

"Let me check", she uttered back, and for a while that was their chief concern. It was slower this time, and there was more focus and exploring. It took some manoeuvring at times, because she was that much smaller than him, and he didn't want to crush her with his greater body mass. He loved the little expressions that passed across her face, especially when she was near her release. And just being in the circle of her arms and resting his head against her breast while she ran her fingers through his hair was a wonderful, wonderful thing.

"What would you say to breakfast?" he asked some time later, once he had finally got out of the bed and splashed his face with some water. It was a poor substitute for the sorely needed bath, but he was not yet ready to think that far.

"I would love it. I feel like I could eat a horse", said Lothíriel from her seat on the edge of the bed. Judging by the twinkle in her eyes, the humour was not lost to her.

"As the King of Rohan, I am horrified to hear such a statement from my queen. Please don't eat Firefoot", he quipped. She threw a pillow at him.

Éomer picked up his robe from the floor, where it had ended up last night, and wrapped it around himself before making his way to the antechamber that led to the King's rooms. There guards were standing by at all times of the day. Both two were trying not to grin while he was ordering some breakfast and enough bathwater for two.

Returning to the bedchamber, Éomer halted at the doorway to watch his wife. She had found and dressed in her shift, and sat cross-legged on the tousled bed. Somehow she had also discovered his comb and was using it to undo the worst tangles in her hair. She raised her eyes and smiled.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

He shrugged and returned the smile.

"I'm looking at my wife", he merely said.

Her expression grew thoughtful.

"I suppose I didn't fully know what I was getting into when I decided to marry a Rohirric man", she mused half-audibly.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" asked Éomer as he stepped further into the room.

"I think it's good. In Gondor, a high-born man isn't really supposed to show his emotions, or his affection. It happens, of course – not all of us are so emotionally constipated. But your gaze is so straight and bold. One only needs to look at you and they will know how you feel about any person that is near you", she said slowly.

"A poor quality in a king, do you think? Shouldn't I try to hide my true feelings?" he asked her as he went to take a seat next to her.

"Don't ask me. I'm but a student of herb-lore", Lothíriel said, shrugging slightly.

"A student of herb-lore and a queen", he pointed out.

"Yes, but a person can be many things", she said and lowered the comb. Her hair already looked much less dishevelled, though it still had a fluffy quality to it. Lothíriel reached to touch his hand, and she said, "I do not think you should doubt yourself, or try to hide who you are. Rohan is fortunate to have a king with a heart like yours. There are times and places when feints and hidden truths have their use, but this is not it. _Your_ age is not it."

"Ormar told me something similar when we were visiting Mundburg."

"I'm not surprised. He understands people", said Lothíriel and continued to comb her hair.

Breakfast arrived soon after, as though Leofrun had taken a cue from Lothíriel and foreseen the hour when the newly-wed couple would send for food. The housekeeper had also guessed both would be famished, and so sent a hearty meal for them. Usually, Éomer just wolfed down his breakfast and went off to see to the day's business. Now he saw the virtue there was in sharing it with another and taking time to actually enjoy the food. They would have to do this frequently in days to come.

After they had eaten, he suggested taking a hot bath. Lothíriel cast him a curious look.

"A bath sounds like a wonderful idea, but do you mind if I check something first in my rooms? The knights were supposed to bring my herbs there, and I'd like to see how they're doing. There wasn't much time for that last night", she said, glancing at the door that led to the Queen's rooms.

"Of course, though I still can't believe you brought living plants with you all the way from Dol Amroth", he said with a slight shake of his head.

Lothíriel let out a small laugh.

"It is unusual, isn't it? Well, I want to experiment with them – see if I can get any to grow here. I didn't bring any exotic plants, but only those I think have an actual chance of survival. I did a lot of reading last winter, you see – tried to find all the such plants that grow in both our countries", she told him. Then a thoughtful look came to her face, "Though I do wonder if I might grow some in my rooms... if there's enough light..."

"You are a strange woman, wife mine", he stated and gave her a kiss. She laughed again.

"You would know", she replied and then made her way to the Queen's rooms. He followed, not because he thought he would be of any use to her when she tended to her plants, but simply because it was nice to watch his lady.

As soon as she had entered her bedchamber, she picked up a pitcher of water and began to examine the pots and boxes laid on all the available surfaces. There were surprisingly many of them, and briefly he wondered at how all of this had even fit inside her carriage.

However, his attention was not long fixed on the plants and herbs. Quickly his eyes were drawn to her bed and the thing sitting there. A black cat had somehow appeared in the Queen's chambers and decided to use her bed as his own.

He had no idea of how the thing had got here. There were cats in Edoras, surely, and their merit in keeping mice at bay in storehouses and stables was recognised. However, they were not generally allowed to enter people's homes, and nobody that he knew of would keep them as household pets. Once, a stray cat had entered Meduseld's kitchens when the door leading outside had been left open. He wouldn't soon forget the sight of Leofrun chasing the creature out with a broom, screaming her head off.

The cat turned its head to look at him with vivid, green eyes. He stared at the thing, and it stared right back.

It was loathing at first sight.

"Lothíriel", he said at length, not moving his gaze from the intruder, "I'm terribly sorry – I don't know how it happened, but there seems to be a stray cat in your bed."

"A stray cat?" she asked, glancing briefly away from her work. "Oh, he's not a stray. He's Cúran."

"... that thing is yours?" Éomer asked after a brief moment of disbelief.

Lothíriel put down her pitcher and left the herbs for a minute. She made her way to the bed and picked up the creature, which immediately started to purr.

"Of course he is. Would you believe I found him a few years ago on the cliffs? A scrawny, famished little thing he was, and no sight of his mother. I can't imagine how he got there. He would surely have died if I had left him where I found him, so I decided to bring him home with me and nurse him back to health. But when Cúran was well again, he had already grown attached to me, so I decided to keep him. I couldn't well leave him in Dol Amroth, could I?" she explained, gently running her fingers against the cat's head and back. Curiously enough, Éomer noticed the thing had white toes in one paw, though the rest of him was black as night.

"You never mentioned you had a cat – or that you meant to bring him along", Éomer said, staring at the creature as if it might pounce at him straight from her arms.

"I didn't? I was so sure I had told you. Or did I just see something that implied it?" Lothíriel wondered out loud, her brow creasing as she raked her memory. He recalled what she had told him – that she couldn't always make a difference between what was and what would be. It rather sounded like that was exactly what had happened here.

There was probably something about his expression that alarmed her, for she looked at him worriedly, and quickly continued, "Was I wrong to bring him? Is he not welcome?"

He wanted to say that no, he didn't particularly like the creature, at least based on the first sight. But this was now her home, too, and he saw the protective way she held the thing in her arms, as though dreading it would be ripped away. It would be a poor start for their marriage if he asked her to get rid of what was obviously a beloved pet. He understood well how special the relationship between man and animal could be; he didn't need to look any further than Firefoot.

"No, it's all right. Meduseld is now your home and if you want him to stay, then he will. Just keep him out of the kitchens. I may be king but even I dare not go against Leofrun", he said at length.

Lothíriel smiled again and she came to give him a kiss. The cat stopped purring.

"Thank you, dear!" she said and leant back. "I really should have made sure I had told you about him. I'm sorry I didn't."

"It's all right. You didn't mean harm", he said simply. She smiled and put the cat back on the bed, where it curled up again. With a sigh, Éomer took a seat there as well, but apparently this was not appreciated: the thing's ears flattened against its head and it hissed at him. He bared his teeth and growled straight back at it, never minding whether that was below his dignity or not. No small, annoying furball was going to stop him from entering his wife's bed.

Lothíriel did not turn back from her task, but this little confrontation had not escaped her notice.

"Be nice, you two", she commanded as she continued to inspect her herbs.

Éomer glanced at the cat. Be nice? Easier said than done.

Either way, he responded with a mild_ "yes, dear." _

The beastly cat decidedly ignored him.

* * *

It appeared all Lothíriel's plants had survived so far, although she was a bit concerned about one specimen with strong fragrance. She called it basil and said it did not take well to cold airs; she had suspected from the start it might not survive the journey.

"But it's no worry. I've got seeds, too, and I will try to plant them later in the summer. Maybe I can get it to grow in my rooms", she chatted lightly. Éomer did not have much to say to that, so he just hemmed in agreement.

Now that she had checked her plants and made sure that her cat was comfortable – the thing already had small ceramic dishes on the floor for drink and food, and a cushioned basket – he was finally able to persuade her to join him in a bath. She dropped her shift on the floor of the washing chamber with a wrinkled nose, and said, "I feel so filthy, they may have to burn this thing."

"That delightful piece? I forbid it", he commented, already seated in the tub.

She cast him that look he knew so well, both amusement and exasperation. Then she climbed in the tub, and after shuffling around a bit, they found a nice position. He sat behind her, and she settled down between his knees, her back against his chest. With a contented sigh, she relaxed there and placed her head on his shoulder. The air was thick with warm steam; it felt so damp it was a wonder the candles didn't go out.

The moment was simply perfect. His wife rested against him in a hot bath, and all was quiet around them. Later they would have to get dressed and go entertain their guests, but this was their private haven. At long last, he had to admit having to wait for her for so many months had truly been worth it. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her head.

"Must we go and meet the world today? I'd rather stay here for the rest of the celebrations", she broke the silence after a while. Her fingers were drawing odd circles across his knee and at times on his thigh.

"I'm afraid it's required. At least we're not expected to make an appearance before afternoon", he replied, though he shared the sentiment. Standing in ceremony could be so cumbersome.

Glancing at the side of her face, he asked, "You don't enjoy the merrymaking?"

"Yes and no", she replied after a moment. "It's mainly knowing that from this day on, my every move will be observed and analysed. In particular, how soon I conceive."

"Why does it worry you? Wasn't it yourself who told me we'll have sons and daughters? he asked her.

"In time, yes", Lothíriel said quietly. "But no matter how soon or late it will happen, it won't ever be good enough. Am I worthy of standing by your side? I sometimes ask myself that. And I know they will ask that same question more often than I would like."

He let out a sigh.

"You can't live your life like that, Lothíriel. If you second-guess your every step, then that's all you're going to achieve. Rohirrim need more than that from their queen", he told her gravely.

"I know. It's just... I chose – I wanted – the man, not the king. Bear with me until I find a way to choose both of them", she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Was it her words, or her tone, that sent the wave of heat and tenderness through him? He couldn't say. Either way, he pulled her even closer to himself and let his hands roam over the round curves of her body. Soon enough she turned around and repositioned herself in his lap, bringing their bodies together once more.

Afterwards he helped her to wash her hair – a wonderful task, one he decided he would be glad to assist in future – and there was mutual effort in soaping one another. She didn't mind using his things at this time, as her own soaps and oils were not yet laid out in the washing chamber. They only left the bath when the water was barely lukewarm, and seeing the way she was shivering, Éomer quickly wrapped his own robe around her. The sight of her in the too large garment was simply adorable: her hands vanished inside the sleeves and the hems hung well below her knees.

Unfortunately, leaving the bath also meant having to make ready for meeting their guests for a luncheon in the hall, and Lothíriel would have to shoo him out and call in her maids. No doubt they would greatly enjoy the opportunity of spreading gossip of how they had attended to the Queen, who was wearing the King's own robe.

Éomer could have sworn the cat looked at him in malicious glee when his wife dismissed him.

* * *

He dressed quickly enough, but he expected it would take longer for his wife to get ready. So he took a seat and poured himself a drink while waiting for her. There was one more thing he wanted to talk about with her before they went to join their guests, and so he pulled closer certain maps and a couple of documents he had brought to his rooms beforehand for this purpose. There was her morning gift: lands to her name in the East-Mark and a herd of her very own. In Rohirric standards, he had been generous, but he wondered what her Gondorian relatives and peers would make of it.

There was the workshop, too, but that he wanted to show to her in private.

She was a vision when she emerged at last. Her gown was soft, green velvet and the colour went better with her than he had guessed. At the bosom and the shoulders there were intricate white embroideries like drops of snow in grass. The braids in her hair were unmistakably Rohirric, but the familiar pearls on her neck reminded one always of Dol Amroth by the sea. Her appearance was a curious mixture of both North and South.

Éomer got up on his feet and made his way to her. For a short moment, he considered just whisking her back to the bedroom. It took some effort to banish that idea, even knowing they were already expected in the hall and her maids would not appreciate him undoing their work with her dress and hair. But she was lovely, and he could not help but kiss her long and deep. His bride made a soft noise in the back of her throat, but submitted nonetheless.

When he pulled back, she gave him a look that was probably meant to be reproaching, but the glimmer in her eyes rather belied it.

"We're making our guests wait", she scolded him gently, though her hands lingered on his shoulders.

"They can wait a little bit more. I have something for you", he said pleasantly, pulling her with him to the table. She saw the documents and the maps, but did not understand them right away, and cast him a nonplussed look.

"This is your morning gift. Nothing spectacular, I'm afraid, but these lands are yours to do with as you please. There are several good farms there and the income is yours to spend. And this herd of horses – if it's managed properly, it can make even a queen a wealthy woman. You'll be secure even if something happens to me", he told her, eager at first but growing more serious.

It was a possibility, after all. Even with all his prowess on the battlefield, he too could die. If such a thing came to pass, he'd have her provided for, whether she married again or not. Was it a morbid thought for the morning after their wedding? Maybe it was. Yet even in the happiest of days, a king ought not to forget he was mortal.

Lothíriel's expression remained even. If the idea of him falling in battle disturbed her, or whether she was taken aback by her morning gift, it did not show. Keenly he sought for some sign of what she was thinking of, and eventually she lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Thank you, dear. I can tell you have been generous; do not think I'm not grateful. But the truth is, you could give me a hoard of _mithril_ and Elven jewels, and I would not be impressed. For you have already given me something more precious than all the treasure under the Sun. You gave me a life that I didn't think I could have", she said gravely, resting her hand on his.

He considered this for a moment. Her response was not particularly surprising. This was the woman who had never taken off the rustic bracelet of leather and pearls since he had fastened it on her wrist. She loved small, simple things: her beastly little cat, her herbs, her Rohirric cloak.

"Well, I can't say I expected to dazzle you with rich gifts. I know these are only a minor issue in this marriage. But they are not not completely unimportant. I would not be the first King of Rohan to die before my time. And if it should be so, I would have my wife safe and comfortable for the rest of her days", he said slowly. How to explain this need to take care of her? He knew she could manage, whatever befell. But he loved her, and wanted to know she was all right – even in the occasion they were parted forever in this life.

Lothíriel shook her head in a sharp, violent motion.

"You'll be fine. You'll live to a fine old age and have a dozen grandchildren running about your feet before your work is finished", she told him fiercely.

"Have you seen it?" he asked her.

"Maybe. But I do not speak so because of my foresight, but because I must believe it", she replied. Her look was troubled and her fingers pressed against his hand as though she was scared he'd vanish if she didn't hold on to him tightly enough. And looking into her bright eyes, both wise beyond her years and yet vulnerable, he could tell this fear went deep. And why wouldn't it? He was one of the few people who knew of her gift, and yet could protect her. Just now she had told him she had not thought she could have this life, and if he were gone, then that life would be lost, too.

Maybe they understood one another better than he had realised. For hadn't spent half his life being afraid of such a loss?

Gently he cradled her to him, never mind how that motion might wrinkle her gown.

"No need to be troubled, love. I have no intention of going anywhere", he murmured the gentle reassurance into her hair, and she made a soft sound in agreement, though her hands still held him tightly.

After a while, she pulled back and looked up at him. Her eyes were calm once more, and whatever dread had held her moments before was now gone.

"How soon do you think we can go and see those lands?" she asked.

"Let's try to get through these celebrations first. You're not eager to travel so soon after the journey from Dol Amroth?"

"Yes and no. It's good to be here at last, and I do like Meduseld, but I also want to see and learn everything. The winter was such a long time to wait", she said, eyes now glittering in unveiled excitement and expectation.

"Don't I know it", Éomer muttered, dipped her back, and kissed her one more time.

* * *

The third day after the wedding, there were games down at the plains in the honour of the new queen. Various competitions would take place, wrestling and sword fights and archery among other things. Éomer was not sure of how interested Lothíriel was in these, but he knew it was more for the amusement of the guests – and of any common folk that managed to find a viewing spot. Not to mention, it was a chance for friendly contest between Eorlingas and Gondorians.

So far time had simply flown by in a flurry of music and laughter and joy. Never in his adult life had the whole of Edoras felt so completely, unashamedly happy. Crowds bustled in and out of Meduseld, filling the streets of the capital, and everywhere Eorlingas and Gondorians mingled freely. Little conflicts took place, of course, but there seemed to be a sense of common agreement among people: the peace was not to be disturbed, and if any fights did break out, they were quickly dealt with by bystanders.

Later in the evening, there would be dinner in Meduseld and Rohirric minstrels came to perform before the wedding guests. Many songs of the Mark were sung, but also of Gondor in the honour of King Elessar's company. Lothíriel listened to the music of her new land in rapt attention, and her eyes had a faraway look in them, as though she was seeing things long past through the music; perhaps she did. But as happy those moments were, Éomer was always impatient for when he could retire with her.

But as of now, the night was still many hours away. The day was sunny and warm for springtime, though occasional gusts of wind flew over the fields. Lothíriel patiently endured his fussing when he insisted for her to take her cloak along just in case.

Down at the plains, a place had been cleared for the games. A large square area had been fenced and there the contests would take place. The audience crowded and sought for better viewing spots, noise grew and fell, and vendors from the city moved among them selling all kinds of sweet and savoury things to nibble on while the spectacle went on. By the field was a platform with seats for both the royal couples, and few choice companions of the wedding party. Some industrious tavern keeps had brought barrels of ale and mead to the site, but guards of Edoras kept an eye on things and were quick to escort out any drunken troublemakers.

The games began with a display by four Riders of King's own Guard. They performed some of their fancier tricks and this time, Éomer was certain there would be no accidents. When the group was riding around the square in full gallop, and making a show of turning around in the saddle without slowing down the horse, Lothíriel leaned closer to him.

"Can you do that, too?" she asked him.

"I know a few things. It takes a lot of practise, but it can be useful in a tight spot. Once in a battle, I had lost my spear. So while Firefoot was going at full speed, I slid down to the side in my saddle, and grabbed a spear from the ground. When I had got up again, I used the spear to run through a warg", he answered. The memory was more sensations than anything to him – he could still recall the feel of sweat against his neck, Firefoot's muscles straining under him, and the desperate lunge he had made to grab the spear from the ground. His arm still felt the collision of metal and wood against the exposed flank of the warg, the thick furry hide and the sinewy flesh beneath. Sooner or later individual battles, save for those like Helm's Deep or the Pelennor fields, faded away. It was the details that stuck.

"That sounds dangerous", she said quietly.

"Battlefield always is."

"Are you ever scared out there?"

"Not really. There isn't time for that", he replied slowly. "Battle is... for me, it comes easily. It's a very single-minded thing. I may worry beforehand, but in the middle of it I think of nothing else."

She reached to touch his hand, and he read something troubled in her features. He intertwined their fingers and smiled at her.

"No need to worry. The great battles are past. I do not think I shall have to ride out so often now, even if Aragorn says unrest will come sooner or later. But that is a concern for another day", he told her.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is", said Lothíriel and looked away. He wondered what she had seen, but there was no time to ask. His Riders had just finished their display and had now gathered in line to receive the deafening applause and shouting of the audience. Once it died down, Éomer stood up, welcomed all to the games, and announced the first contest, which was archery. There were both Rohirric and Gondorian participants, carrying weapons typical to their own homelands. It would be interesting to see how they fared in the competition. Even so, he wasn't going to ignore his bride. Often he turned to speak to her and to explain some technique, or the differences between his people and hers as far as warfare went.

After the archery followed group fights, and in some of them Eorlingas were pitted against Gondorians, and in others they fought together in mixed groups. Especially in those latter ones, Éomer could see that the camaraderie of the Ring War still lived – like flashes from the fields of Pelennor and the Black Gate, where the Men of North and of South lived and died together. Gondorians were better foot soldiers, but many of the Rohirric warriors possessed brutish strength and wild unpredictability that sometimes won the struggle. He suspected this would allow many of them to prevail in wrestling. At any rate, he was glad to see his own people do so well.

When the group fights were finished, there was a break in the games. A few performers, minstrels and conjurers, came to entertain the crowd. But Lothíriel reached for Éomer's hand, and asked, "Do you mind if I go and stretch my legs? I'm feeling a bit stiff."

"Not at all. Do you want me to join you?"

"Thank you, but perhaps not. I think I'd like to get to know some of the ladies a bit better", she replied and offered him a cunning little smile.

"I see. Get going, then", Éomer said, smiling as well. She reached to kiss him quickly before standing up and exiting the platform. He saw she was quickly joined by noble women both of Rohan and of Gondor, and at his signal, a few green-cloaked Riders of the King's Guard. Her protection was no longer the task of Swan Knights.

Himself, he had an errand to run. And so he made his apologies to Aragorn and Arwen and Imrahil, and quickly exited the platform as well. Glancing to the side, he could see Lothíriel walking, and she was followed by quite the company – even Guthild was there, for perhaps she had decided it was better to be seen in the Queen's company rather than to hold a grudge.

In the silence of his thoughts, he sent all his best wishes with Lothíriel, so that all around her may see her as he did, and then went on his way.

But before Éomer found what he was seeking, he discovered something he had not expected.

He was walking through the area where tents were raised beyond the battle square. Here was space for preparing people and their gear, or to tend to them by healers, if their injuries were more serious than intended. As he was making his way, just inside one tent he heard urgent conversation carried out in hushed voices, and at first he didn't recognise them.

"… _completely smitten with her… never acted like that before, not for any woman..."_

"Well, he isn't the first man to appreciate one of those Southern women. You know full well as I do that many of our lads had sweethearts and lovers back in Mundburg after the war ended, and some brought them back to Rohan as wives. He's hardly unique in that regard, and this lady has a mighty name besides."

The second voice Éomer recognised quickly enough. It was Lord Wigmund, one of his trusted advisers. But who was the man talking to?

He was not left wondering for long.

"I still say it's uncanny. He could have had any noble lady of the Mark and restore the House of Eorl with that lady. But he chose this one", said the first voice. It was Eadwig, of course. Was the man talking to a lot of the members of royal council like this?

Éomer might have wanted to hear more of what was going on, but it was then Éothain spoke; he had been following the King with a few guards.

"What is it, my lord?" he asked – evidently he had not heard the voices. But he spoke loud enough that Wigmund and Eadwig in the tent fell silent.

Éomer gritted his teeth. He would surely have liked to hear more, but obviously, his presence was now noted by Wigmund and Eagwid. So he glanced at his captain who had unwittingly revealed him.

"It's nothing. Let's go", he said and began to move again. While he walked, he thought of what he had just heard, and what to do about it. There wasn't much while the wedding celebrations lasted. And Lothíriel – she surely didn't mean it, but her presence could be very distracting.

It might be nothing in the end. Once the novelty wore off and she settled down properly, Eadwig too would realise his case was hopeless. Wigmund's words at least implied he was of a much more dispassionate mind than the Lord of Healding.

Be that as it may, he had not come here to eavesdrop on private conversations, however worrying their contents may be. After making some inquiries he found Alfwen, daughter of Erkenbrand, getting ready for the games. This was not surprising, considering her prowess at arms. Not only was she as strong as many men he knew, she also had skill with a blade nearly the match of her father, who was a legendary swordsman in the Mark.

Alfwen looked surprised to see him approach. She was in full armour, and checking all was in place for the single combats that would soon commence; in her battle gear, she looked formidable. Her chain-mail was gleaming with fresh polish, and the plates covering her chest and shoulders bore the devices of her House. Her long, golden hair was in one thick braid, falling down her back, and her helmet waited on a stool nearby.

"My lord", she greeted him, bowing her head. "What can I do for you?"

"Alfwen", he smiled. "Is it very wrong of me to hope you shall show our guests today what's what?"

Her solemn, honest face broke into a smile.

"Not at all, my lord. I would like nothing more", she said emphatically.

"Then I wish you good luck. Our southern friends ought to know there is serious talent among our people. I know your father has taught you well", he said. Erkenbrand was not a man to leave anything halfway done, and he suspected Alfwen was like her father in that regard.

"I will try to do you proud, my lord", she said, bowing her head again.

Éomer cleared his throat and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Well, I did not come here just to wish you luck. I had a question for you, in fact. Alfwen, what do you think of the Queen?" he asked her, searching her eyes and features keenly for a reaction.

She looked perhaps a bit surprised at first, and no wonder. At this point she had only met Lothíriel once.

"She seems like a good woman, my lord. She has kindness in her", Alfwen said seriously, almost making Éomer smile. Here indeed was the very specimen of Rohirrim, honest and direct. No wonder Lothíriel had liked her.

"The Queen told me she likes you as well. She wonders if you would like to join the King's Knights and be her guard", he said evenly.

Now Alfwen's eyes widened and she nearly dropped the arm-guard she had been about to fasten. But Éomer also saw a glimmer ignite in her eyes, and knew she was intrigued.

"You don't have to answer me now", he continued then. "I suppose you will want to talk to your father. All the same, my lady wife and I would be happy if you decided to join us permanently here in Edoras."

"I shall talk to my father, Éomer King. I'm sure he'll agree this is a wonderful opportunity, and a great honour", said Alfwen. Her eyes were alight, and Éomer suspected that she would leave her father no choice but to consent. And it might not be a hard task at all. Erkenbrand would know this was good for his daughter's prospects – and for the chance of her following in his footsteps as a Marshal one day.

"I'm glad to hear it", he said and reached his hand for her shoulder. "Best of luck for the games – although I know you shall manage whether I wish you well or not."

"Yet I shall fight with a bolder heart with your urging, Sire", she said fiercely, already driven by the thought of a new life in Meduseld in the Queen's company.

Éomer left Alfwen soon after that. If Erkenbrand did not give his consent, then he would be most amazed.

* * *

Busy as these days were, there was one thing Éomer wished to do in peace, and that was talking to his sister alone. So he asked her for a ride, and she was quick to agree. Though they corresponded regularly, it was different to be able to talk face to face. On the other hand, he thought it was good to leave Lothíriel's side for a bit – let her find her bearings without him hovering about all the time. In the company of her family and of Aragorn, Arwen and Faramir, he knew she would be all right.

It was good to get out of the city for a while, and away from all the bustle of the celebrations. Once they had passed the camp, itself a smaller second city, they raced across the plains. The long road from Ithilien had given Éowyn much of the practice she often missed in her new home, and this time, she left her brother behind easily. When Éomer caught up with her again, she was laughing and mirth sparkled in her grey eyes.

"Well done, sister", he said, smiling at her brightly.

"I must say, I've missed this feeling. There's no wind like the wind of Rohan when you're riding hard over the plain", she said warmly.

"That is true", he agreed; few things could beat that sensation. She had slowed down her horse Wíndfola so that she could ride next to him. With an easy pace, they trotted forward along the bank of Snowbourn.

He said now, "I wish you and Faramir could stay a bit longer."

His sister cast him a teasing smile.

"But would you notice us much, I wonder?" she asked him at least half seriously. "Take my advice, brother. Enjoy this time with your new wife, and be glad that the rest of us are soon out of your hair."

"Does that mean that you approve of her after all?" he asked her at length, glancing at her face with a studious look. She met it evenly.

"It was never an issue of approval, Éomer. I know you'll do as you will, as is your right – and your heart won't be changed by anyone, maybe not even by yourself", she said seriously. "As for your wife, she has done very well so far, better even than I expected. It appears a woman may be singular and still fit to be a queen. And it is clear that she cherishes you. She has no eyes for any other man when you are in the room. Marriages are built on worse foundations."

"But you still think I might have chosen better."

"It doesn't matter what I think, brother mine. And anyway, I've been wrong before. You and your lady – nobody expected you to be here. Théodred is gone and you rule in his stead, and Queen Lothíriel... well, Béma only knows her secrets. But all that may be good. This is a new age, and you and her may be just what this land needs to see it through", Éowyn said, looking ahead and to the horizon.

Éomer said nothing for a while as he pondered on his sister's words. He knew she had not spoken or shown her true thoughts until now because she wanted him to enjoy the wedding. And he knew the meaning behind her words. It was now a time for Lothíriel to show what she was really made of and Éowyn was willing to give her that chance. In the coming days this new dynasty would be made.

"Well", he said at last, looking ahead as well, "I do hope that one day, you may see her as a sister. I do wish for a family, Éowyn, and for me you'll be always a part of it. I hope you'll feel the same."

"But I do, Éomer. You're my brother, now and always. Nothing and nobody will ever change that. And any family you choose for yourself is mine, too", she said gravely and reached her hand for his arm. She smiled wryly then, "But families are allowed to be a little complicated, aren't they? You and I should know about that."

He had to smile, too. His sister was right. However much Théoden and Théodred had loved the two of them, and no matter how cherished the memories, that family had never been simple.

"I suppose so", he admitted. "Though I would also like some peace, and some normalcy. I've had enough excitement to last me a lifetime."

Éowyn let out a low laugh.

"Some peace and normalcy? I doubt those are in store for you. Few kings get to enjoy such things, and if you truly desired a quiet little life, then I do not think you would have asked Lady Lothíriel to marry you. No, you would have chosen someone like the Lady Guthild of Healding."

He cast a sharp look at his sister.

"Would you prefer somebody like her as your sister-in-law?" he asked warily.

"I would agree she's a fine queen", Éowyn said, and then a glitter appeared in her eyes, "but in private, I would think you had lost your mind to choose so poorly. You've never done the safe thing, especially in the matters close to your heart."

Éomer glared at her in frustration.

"First you say my choice is strange, and then you tell me it would be worse if I had chosen safely. Would you make up your mind?"

But Éowyn was not intimidated by his temper.

"How testy you are for a man newly married."

"You're not answering my question", he pointed out, but still got not much more than a smile out of her.

"Your marriage is your riddle to solve, brother mine."

Somehow, he knew she was more right than he realised at the time.

* * *

Evening was growing late and the wedding guests had not yet finished their supper when guards of the Golden Hall were startled by a pair of shadowy shapes quietly making their way from the path that led to the royal garden. Before the guards could cry alarm and command the shapes to show themselves, they could hear their king's voice in the gloom: "Peace, Riders. We're not brigands."

"That would be something, wouldn't it? Arrested in our own home as brigands?" asked the soft, female voice the guards knew to be their queen's.

So the guards relaxed, and shared amused, knowing looks between themselves. If the King and his bride wanted to sneak around in some amorous game, then they were most welcome to do it.

As for Éomer, well, it was a measure of just that, but he had another purpose, too. All day long, they were surrounded by guests and friends and family, and he really wanted to show his wife her new workshop without crowds around them. And so he had suggested they retire early. She had agreed, but she had that discerning look in her eyes; she guessed it was not just because he wanted to take her to bed as soon as possible. That would come later, probably. But whatever his intention was at the moment, he knew no matter what they did there would be jokes about how vigorously the King and Queen were working on an heir for the throne.

"Where are we going?" she asked him in a whisper, holding on to his arm.

"Not far. We're almost there", he uttered back. Thankfully, the courtyard was well-lit and lanterns were readily available. So he grasped one, knowing her new workshop would yet be dark and chilly.

They came to the door of the building and he gave her the lantern.

"Hold this for a moment", he said, trying hard not to grin. Lothíriel did as he asked, but her look was more than suspicious now.

The key had been in his keeping since after the building crew had finished their work, but now he produced it in triumph and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and handed the key to her. She took it and glanced at him curiously.

"Want to take a look inside?" he asked her nonchalantly. "Do not worry. I promise there is nothing unseemly waiting for you."

"I hadn't thought so, but if you lured me out here because you've already grown tired of both our beds and would rather have me in some dark storehouse, then you can be assured it will not happen", she told him firmly as she stepped inside, lantern held aloft. Éomer suppressed his laughter.

Only moments later, she let out a soft gasp of surprise. He knew what she saw and smelt: a brand new working table and a beautiful chair in the corner, newly laid hearth, empty shelves, various pots and pans in a neat row, and other such objects as he had thought she would need. The air was chilly as no proper fire had yet been lit in the workshop, but the smell of sawdust and polish still clung to it. It was not identical to her old workshop, but he had known she would quickly realise the function of this place.

"Is this what I think it is?" Lothíriel asked at length, standing in the centre of the room, and looking around her with wide eyes.

He came to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Aye. I thought you'd like to have a workshop here in your new home, too. It's not as large as the one you had in Dol Amroth, but I hope you'll like it. All of this has been made just for you", he said, his heart swelling with happiness now that he saw how joy kindled her eyes, and how glad she was to receive this gift.

Indeed, her eyes were sparkling and a huge smile lit her face.

"This is so – you are just too – oh, _Elbereth_", she stammered, and then with a cry, she flung herself in his arms. Though, at least she still had the presence of mind to first put the lantern on the desk.

Éomer had to take a step back at the sheer force of the collision, and then she was already covering his face in a multitude of kisses. The Queen was indeed most pleased.

Still, he couldn't resist teasing her a bit. When she had calmed down somewhat, and was not smothering his face anymore with her eager affection, he said, "I see which gift you most prefer – though I admit I didn't expect you to go into palpitations over becoming a landowner in Rohan."

Lothíriel looked sheepish.

"Don't think the land and horses you gave to me are not appreciated. But this", she said, and gestured around herself, "is something I can touch, a place where I can come every day, and do what I know and love. It's a connection to my life before you, but it also shows care and consideration and... and acceptance. That you think my studies are useful and worthwhile and you believe in it. Not all men would."

Gently he cupped her face with his hand.

"You're not the kind of woman who will easily change herself. Nor would I wish you to change, because then all that wonderful strangeness that I love about you would vanish, too. Your herbs and your knowledge and all the work you do with it, it's part of who you are. So what else can I do than build you such a place? And, of course, I want you to be happy. I suspect you wouldn't be, if these things were taken from you", he told her, slow and even.

Her eyes were wide and serious as she listened to him speak. When he finished, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Never let it be said that I'm the only one who sees into people's hearts. In that your eyes are as keen as mine", she said softly. Then she tiptoed into a kiss, and no more was said for some time.

Later on they walked slowly back to Meduseld. Though the night was chilly, it was also very beautiful; air was clear and the moon nearly full in the sky. His light and that of the numberless stars was bright and fair. A slight, dreamy smile lingered on Lothíriel's features, and often she raised her face to the sky, as though to drink in the silver light. _Ithiliel_ her father sometimes called her, but Éomer had not remembered or realised it was a name well-given.

At the door, she tugged his arm gently, and asked, "Can't we stay outside just a little longer? It's such a beautiful night."

"You aren't cold yet?" he asked back, at which she simply shook her head.

So he relented and kissed her brow.

"All right then", he agreed. With a faint smile, he added, "I'm going to spoil you silly, aren't I?"

Lothíriel smiled, and he felt like the very light of the moon was reflected in her eyes.

"Oh, you already have."

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Here comes a new chapter! I hope you like it. :)

I had a good time writing this one - their interactions with one another are just a delight. I admit I loved writing about Cúran at last. He's existed in my head as Lothíriel's pet for a good while now, and I can tell you she's definitely a cat person. Éomer, on the other hand - not so much. But we are ready to endure much for our loved ones, aren't we? Cúran is Sindarin and means "crescent moon".

I believe Éomer remains somewhat in the haze of happiness, otherwise his reaction to overhearing that conversation between Eadwig and Wigmund had been different. But we'll see how and where this all goes!

Inspiration for this chapter was drawn very much from song by Einar Selvik & Ivar Bjørnson called Ni Mødre Av Sol - not necessarily from lyrics, but just the mood of the song.

Hope you and yours stay safe. I know the world's crazy right now, but I believe that by caring about and loving one another we will conquer.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Let me know what you think.

* * *

**Boramir - **Thank you! I hope you liked her reaction to the workshop. :)

I have a feeling Lothíriel and Alfwen have a chance for a beautiful friendship, if it works out. But we'll see!

I'm sure a commander of Éomer's calibre would have come up with a hundred plans far superior than mine in that chapter. But alas, I'm not a brilliant strategist, and I believe he not only had manpower to execute any plan he wanted, but the ground was also never truly against him.

**EStrunk - **Glad you liked it! I think it would be important for Éomer to make sure that there are no hard feelings between him and Imrahil. And no matter how hard it is for Imrahil, he does know what this means for his daughter.

**sai19 - **You are right - this is an issue usually best handled in one chapter. Glad it worked out so well, even if the chapter was humongous.

This site can be a little wonky at times, I've seen!

As for what's to come next, we'll see!

**Simplegurl4u - **Thank you! I'm glad to hear you liked it. :)

The part with the siblings was bittersweet for me, too. And I think for Éomer, it's very important to make that distinction for his wife, and even remind himself that she ought to be treated always well.

**sailor68 -** Thank you very much! Weddings are often difficult to write, but I'm very glad to hear you liked it so much!

**Katia0203 - **In that case, what a convenient timing that chapter had! Best regards to your brother. :)

We'll see what mischief Eadwig might come up with!

**fantasticferret - **Thank you! We'll get to that soon, I hope. :)

**Wondereye - **Thanks! It's been tough waiting for her, but he's very delighted at the moment. ;)

**Catspector - **Thank you very much! I'm glad to hear you liked it. I had a good time writing the wedding night, and I'm glad to hear it conveyed this happy, light feeling.

**Jo - **Thanks! :)

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Thank you! It's a difficult one for Imrahil, but he's managing.

**NightBlossom - **Thanks! Indeed they did. ;)

**LH Wordsmith - **Thank you! I think there probably is more trolling byÉowyn and Aragorn going on, but Éomer is just too blissfully distracted to notice it! :D

I really enjoy writing this version of them. They have their flaws, certainly, and I hope I've been showing how they just become unarmed around one another!

**Leilal - **Glad to hear you liked it!

**coecoe11 - **I'm happy to know you did! I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story. :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17**

One early morning Éomer startled awake, and saw that the spot next to him in the bed was empty. Running his fingers over the sheet, he could still feel her warmth; she was not long gone.

It was the Queen's bed, for that was where they had ended up last night; it didn't seem to matter anymore in which bed he fell asleep in, as long as she was by his side. He supposed her beastly little cat did not agree, but perhaps the thing tolerated him in her bed for her sake. She might have told Cúran to, which seemed possible. Otherwise, he would not be surprised to find the little monster's claws in his throat.

Be that as it may, it had been late when they had retired. Last night had been the final one before her family and the rest of the Gondorian party began their journey back home, and so they had stayed with their guests later than previous nights. She had spoken a long while with her father, sitting a little away from the rest of the company. What words they had exchanged, Éomer had not asked. He knew she would be all right, but Imrahil was another matter.

The week had passed quickly. At times he had rather forgotten how the time moved on, for between his wife and his friends, moments were swift and happy. And Lothíriel, too, looked to be glad. Her spirits were ever high and bright. If any had thoughts that the new queen was strange, Éomer had not yet heard such reports.

Yet as happy as these days were, he knew what he preferred. He liked to be alone with his queen – and if there wasn't an heir in the land soon, it wouldn't be for the lack of trying. For as new as their marriage was, she had already shown herself to be a passionate lover, eager to learn and to respond to her new husband's affections.

That thought started to entice him now, but it was quite inconvenient while his wife was not nearby. So, with a big yawn, he got up on his feet in the dim chamber and began to look for her. If night-time was precious and exciting, these early morning's moments were too, when there was peace and quiet in the world before the day's bustle.

His foot touched something warm and furry. There was a startled, furious hiss and he could feel sharp claws slashing just above his ankle. Éomer grimaced but did not make a sound – he wouldn't give the little beast that satisfaction.

"Bugger off, you fiend", he said, though, before pulling on his breeches and going to look for Lothíriel.

He found her outside watching sunrise. A private door led from the King and Queen's chambers to the great platform on which Meduseld stood, overlooking what once had been the royal garden. Éowyn had maintained it as much as she had been able, but after her departure the place had been as good as deserted – except for Éomer himself, who sometimes walked there when he wanted some peace and quiet. His new wife had been quick to discover the garden, even with the wedding celebrations going on. This did not surprise him at all.

Gently, without a word, he approached her from behind and wrapped around her shoulders the soft blue shawl he had picked up just in case. He left his arms around her form and with a soft sigh, she scooted closer.

"Morning", he murmured into her ear. It was a beautiful sunrise with too many colours for one to name, he'd give her that, but personally he was more interested in her warm, soft shape and the tempting smell of her hair, which fell freely on her shoulders. She was wearing her shift and a robe, simple light-coloured things. He felt like he'd never grow tired of seeing her so casual and at ease.

"Morning, dear", she replied and turned her head enough to press a kiss on his cheek. But he shifted so that it landed on his mouth instead. She made a sound in her throat, but let him kiss her for a bit nonetheless.

"Why are you up so early?" he asked her after a while. As the sun climbed ever higher, the land grew brighter. Some fog still lingered on the meads, but daylight would soon burn it away. The green of the land was that poignant shade of spring that would ripen into a deeper shade as summer advanced. Like a ribbon of silver Snowbourn glittered, and the walls of the mountains were red in morning's light. It was a fair spring morning in the Riddermark.

"I haven't had a chance to do this before now. Somebody always keeps me in the bed until the sun has already risen", she said pointedly, with laughter in her voice. Her words also reminded him of some notions he had had upon waking.

"Hmm. What Cúran does is no fault of mine", he murmured and nuzzled the side of her head.

"That's below your dignity, Lord of the Mark, blaming an innocent animal for your own transgressions."

"That thing never was innocent", he growled and kissed her again. She snorted in answer, but still answered the kiss.

The sun was slowly climbing higher. Her light revealed the garden all its dismal state, like upturned wasteland. Momentarily Éomer frowned. What if she had expected a place of beauty ready for her?

"I know the garden is not more than a patch of dirt at the moment, but I hope it doesn't put you off too badly. Nobody has really been keeping it since Éowyn left, and we figured you might want to plant it anew", he commented after a while.

"It was well thought. If this place was as she left it, I'd probably feel like walking into somebody else's garden. But now I may make it my own. I already have plans", said Lothíriel warmly and looked up at him with a smile. "You'll see. Once my garden is planted and growing, you will walk in here, and wonder if you have stepped into the fragrant woods of Ithilien."

He returned the smile and held her a bit tighter. It was good to think of such happy thoughts about the future, instead of dreading what the new morning would bring.

"I look forward to it", he told her and kissed her temple. Then he asked, "Are you worried for today?"

Few things generally seemed to shake Lothíriel, but it was still a valid question. Her family was leaving today, and it might be months before she saw them again. But the closing of the wedding celebrations also meant something else. This was really the start of their life as husband and wife, and as the King and Queen of Rohan.

"Not really. I am where I wish to be", said Lothíriel confidently, and he thought that she looked so, too. She stood straight and strong in his arms, looking around her with bright, curious eyes. Already she walked in Meduseld with a light step and smile on her face.

"I'm glad to hear it", he murmured. "I'm where I wish to be, too."

She said nothing, but turned so that she could wrap both her arms around him and rest her head against his shoulder. So they stood and welcomed the new morning, both at peace with the world and themselves.

But now that the sun was in the sky, it was time to get back inside and prepare for the day. After the breakfast, they would send the guests on their way. And Lothíriel was shivering, as the air of morning was still cool, despite the shawl and his arms around her. So they made their way back into the Hall. In her rooms, maids were already waiting for the Queen. It seemed they couldn't help but glance his way as he passed, and no wonder – he was wandering about wearing nothing but his breeches.

Maybe he should be more cautious in that regard. Not that he himself minded, but Lothíriel might have an issue with others than her being privy to his states of undress.

In his own chambers, he quickly put on some clothes – the shirt she had made for him, a soft tunic and trousers and his favourite boots. He also picked up his circlet, as the event of sending off their guests asked for a degree of formality. Éomer let out a sigh. As good as it was to see friends and family, he was also looking forward to the comfortable routine of everyday life, and not having to polish himself so much. On the other hand, maybe there was a reason to tidy up a little bit more from now on. After all, he had a wife whose appreciative glances were very much worth the effort.

Lothíriel joined him some time later. Her appearance did not hint at any nostalgia: today she wore again the colours of her new homeland: her gown was deep green, and at the neck it was embroidered with white and golden flowers. For the first time, her jewellery was mainly of gold – these were from Rohan's royal treasury, and owned by the previous queens since times long past – and only on her wrist gleamed the pearls native to Dol Amroth. The knot of the bracelet was now so tight one would probably have to cut the leather to take it off.

A strange sensation came to Éomer as he looked at her approach. It was a wonder and joy and tenderness so poignant, it felt akin to pain. She really was here to stay. Though her family was departing, she was to remain. He had known this, of course, and he wasn't sure why this realisation should hit him like this now. Maybe after so many years of hardships, he had forgotten how to trust a good thing when it happened.

She gave him a quizzical look, but he composed himself and simply smiled as he took her hand in his own. So they made their way out and into the hall of Meduseld, there to meet her family and send them on their way.

The mood in the Golden Hall had changed. The excitement of the wedding celebrations was now gone, and there was quiet expectation for when the guests would depart. Many had already taken their leave of the capital: Rohirrim camping on the plains had collected their families and belongings and started their journey home with the dawn. Strange it was, how soon had passed this event Éomer had waited so eagerly and impatiently every day for the past year.

Voices were quieter this morning as final conversations were had, and rather than eating much, both the King and Queen of Rohan went among their friends and family to exchange some last words before parting. The longest Éomer spoke with Éowyn and Aragorn. Both smiled and told him to enjoy this time of joy.

All too soon the breakfast came to an end and it was time to move. The company rose and slowly crowds made their way to the twin doors of Meduseld. Gondorians were already in their travel gear, their horses would be waiting outside, and down on the plains the great camp city was now vanished.

Lothíriel said her final goodbyes outside. She hugged each of her brothers tightly and shared a few soft words with them. She then came to her father, who received the longest hug and the most words. Whoever stood near saw that the parting was harder on Imrahil than it was on his daughter.

But Éomer said his goodbyes to Éowyn and hugged her tight, and in whispers she asked him to visit soon, before she tiptoed to kiss his cheek. With a smile, she stepped back to Faramir's side.

Leofrun came from the Hall, and she gave Lothíriel the cup of parting. Then the new queen took a sip before she made her way among the guests, and each of them took their taste of the mead. So it had been since the times immemorial in Meduseld, and Éomer took quiet pleasure in seeing his new queen act this thing so easily when she was still a new bride in the Golden Hall.

When Aragorn had drunk from the cup, he raised his voice: _"Ferthu hal, Éomer Cyning! Ferthu hal, Lothíriel Cwen!"_

Many voices joined this cry, and some perhaps wondered how the King Elessar knew the language of Rohan. But Éomer smiled and nodded his head at his fellow king. Silently Aragorn mouthed _"until we meet again"_, and then his company made their way down to the courtyard, now filled with horses and carriages. Noise and bustle filled the air as steeds were mounted, orders were given, and then Aragorn's herald moved forward. Éowyn shot a glance back at her brother and one last smile was exchanged between them. As ever when they parted, he felt like a knife was twisted around in his chest. But then she felt a small hand in his own, pressing against his fingers gently. He almost laughed out loud. One should think this parting would be much harder for her – that he would be comforting his bride, and not the other way around!

But then, she could probably see her family even when they were far away. For her, parting was not the same as to others.

Looking at her now, he could see her gaze was lingering on Éowyn, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"What is it?" Éomer inquired, wondering if some uncomfortable encounter had taken place between the two women – and hoping against it.

Lothíriel shook her head anxiously.

"Don't ask. You don't want to know."

"But I surely do. What is the matter?" he insisted.

"Trust me in this, love. It's not my tidings to share."

He glanced at her, and then at the back of Éowyn as she disappeared downhill. Then he understood.

"She... she's with child?"

Lothíriel sighed.

"Indeed. She doesn't know yet, though", she said quietly.

For a moment he just stared at her. Then, though he knew Éowyn had already vanished from sight, he looked the way she had gone. His sister expecting a child! That was news indeed, and at first he wasn't sure whether at core he felt bittersweet, or happy. Now his little sister was truly removed from life in Rohan, and from their shared childhood. And yet all things must move forward and grow, and he knew she would be glad once she found out.

Be that as it may, he knew she'd like to tell this news to him herself. Most likely he was frowning, for his wife looked unhappy as she touched his hand.

"Well, I did say you didn't want to hear it from me", she muttered.

Gently he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"It's all right. It's my own fault for being too curious", he told her and kissed her brow.

"Hmm. It still surprises me how well you read me", said his wife.

"You are an interesting study, I find", he muttered softly against the side of her face, at which she hemmed in agreement.

But then he turned and directed his gaze at the doors of Meduseld, now standing closed to keep the warmth inside. Doorwards stood there ready to open the doors again, if such was required by the King and Queen.

"Are you ready?" he asked her quietly. Now – now was truly the time for them to start together.

She turned her eyes towards the doors as well.

"I think so", she said and gently pressed his hand.

With that, they slowly walked inside.

* * *

Elfhelm the Marshal, along with his family and Riders, was among the last to leave after the wedding. Farewells had also been postponed because Éomer had decided to take this chance and hold council with his Marshals, who were all in Edoras for the celebration. But when these were done, and the two men took sharing some final words, the young king put his hand on his friend's shoulder and spoke in a low voice.

"I have another task for you, and it's of a more discreet nature. But before I speak more of it, I must ask: what do you think of Lord Eadwig?"

"Lord Eadwig? He's a proud man of an old and proud line. He has a good standing among the lords of East-Mark. Myself, I cannot say I've ever heard bad things said of him, and he receives me well when I have business in his lands", said Elfhelm. He was looking curious at first, but then he seemed to realise something, and he said in an even more quiet voice, "Before your betrothal, there was some talk Eadwig's daughter might be our new queen."

"Aye, and it seems he too took that talk to heart. I've become aware of some malcontent in his part, but I'm not sure yet how serious it is. Will you keep an eye on the man for me? Listen to what is said, and who is he speaking to?" Éomer asked quietly. Only a couple days before, Lord Wigmund had reported some such notions to Éomer. He had spoken of his conversation with Eadwig, the one Éomer himself had overheard, but given nothing that warranted arrest and direct confrontation. However, as long as Eadwig refused to let this go, he wouldn't feel fully at ease.

"You know I'll do whatever you need me to do", Elfhelm replied, "But this I will say: such secret dealings remind me more of Wormtongue's time than I'd like."

Éomer sighed and shook his head.

"I know what you mean. I don't like it either, and I had hoped there was no need for scheming any longer, now that the snake is gone. Still, I must know if I need to be more worried about the Lord of Healding than I already am", he said seriously, meeting his Marshal's eyes evenly.

"Your right to the throne is as solid as it gets, Éomer. Even if there are occasional complaints among the nobles, they know that the people of this land love you fiercely. Most of our nobles do, too. Eadwig is no fool; he knows better than to test that love. And why would he want to? This land has known enough of strife in past few years", said Elfhelm.

"It's not myself I worry about, Elfhelm", Éomer muttered back. His eyes strayed to where Lothíriel was talking to Elfhelm's wife and other women of the Marshal's household. They were all laughing about something, and his lady looked perfectly at ease in this scene. Alfwen stood there as well, smiling but also keeping an eye around – already comfortably settled into her new position.

Elfhelm took his meaning right away.

"I don't think you need to, my lord. She shows great promise, and ultimately, I don't think our people could ever truly hate what you love. And the leagues between Edoras and Dol Amroth may be long, but Imrahil's name will not be soon forgotten in this land", he said quietly. Then with a nod he added, "But like I said, I'll do what you ask. I'll keep an eye on Eadwig."

Éomer gave the Marshal's shoulder a tight squeeze.

"Thank you, my friend. It could be nothing, but I worry for her. I need to know she's safe."

Elfhelm smiled.

"The safety and happiness of you and yours is a matter I take most seriously."

After that conversation, and knowing his trusted Marshal had his back in this matter, Éomer did feel much easier.

* * *

So began the days of the Queen, and they were the happiest yet Éomer had lived in his adult life. Now that he had her by his side, he realised how much he had ached for this kind of companionship – how her presence seemed to have filled some void he had felt but not perceived clearly. And there was such delight in waking up to her slight stirring in the morning or her sleepy kiss on his face. He was even willing to endure finding that the cat had appeared in the bed, usually in the crook by the back of her knees, some time during the night. For her sake, Éomer refrained from kicking the little beast out, even if it gave him some truly evil looks if he dared to kiss his wife.

"What do your maids think of your cat?" he asked her once, and she smiled brightly.

"Oh, they think he's just adorable. I believe a few of them are considering getting one, too", she said. More monsters like Cúran in the vicinity of Meduseld? Just lovely.

"Why am I not even surprised?" he muttered, but his wife leaned close to kiss him.

"Worry not. I think you're adorable, too", she told him sweetly. He growled at her words.

"As a famous warrior king, I resent being called '_adorable_'", he told her as he caught her in his arms and held her tight. She shrieked in laughter and struggled a bit, but was unable to break free.

"But because you're completely smitten with me, you will endure it", she told him and then distracted him with a long, lingering kiss.

She was very, very good at distracting him.

"So, what do you think of Alfwen so far? Does she meet your expectations?" Éomer asked his wife a few days after the last wedding guests had left. Alfwen had not made the King and Queen wait long for her answer: eyes bright, her usually solemn face lit with a smile, she had told them she would be glad to stay and serve the new Lady of the Mark. Éomer suspected this had disrupted Erkenbrand's plans for his daughter a bit, but when he saw the proud look on the Marshal's face upon his departure, he knew this was not an entirely negative outcome either for the daughter or the father.

"Oh, she does. I never knew such a woman, though I suspect at some point, your lady sister was much like her. She's very serious about her goals. But I like her, and hopefully she would say the same about me", said Lothíriel, glancing briefly his way. She was sorting through the vials and little bottles she had brought with her from Dol Amroth, making sure all was in order and nothing was missing before these were transported to her workshop. It was one task she would trust no one else with.

She lifted one vial and inspected it against light before continuing, "And she's a useful guide. Not just in showing me around, but also telling me about Rohan. She knows so many stories about the people, and many songs. It's good to have somebody to translate the culture sometimes."

He smiled at her choice of words. Translating a culture. What an apt observation.

"I'm glad you two are getting along", he said, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on a stool. It had been a long day, as he had much work to catch up to after the wedding celebrations. It also meant not having as much time to spend with her as he'd like, but hopefully, things would get calmer soon enough.

"As am I. But I think it makes sense. We may be very different in many regards, but both of us understand what it's like to be a little bit strange. It's one thing to take the sword and fight with the men, but the dreams she has for future are something else", Lothíriel said thoughtfully as she continued her work.

"It's a pity there aren't more of her kind. Some say that our shieldmaidens are ten times as fierce as our best men. But maybe Alfwen may be the one to usher in something new. Many of our men died in the Ring War, leaving behind a lot of angry sisters and daughters", he said and felt an involuntary shudder at all the suffering his people had gone through. But Lothíriel put aside her vials and bottles and came to sit on the armrest of his chair.

"Do you think you'll make her a Marshal one day?" she asked.

Now he smiled at his wife.

"Why don't you tell me?"

She scoffed softly and kissed his brow.

Each morning they ate breakfast together, usually in her rooms before her maids came in to help her dress. Then he took his leave of her and went to get ready for the day's labours. On busier days it might not be until dinner that he saw his wife again, but whenever he could, he'd take an hour or two to spend with her. And so he might find Lothíriel somewhere in the Hall, talking with Leofrun about the running matters and resolving issues concerning the household. Sometimes she was in her solar, surrounded by ladies in waiting, and she was learning to weave cloth with a Rohirric loom, which apparently was different from such contraptions used in the South. At any rate, Lothíriel had never done much weaving herself. Upon learning how highly valued this skill was in her new homeland, she had instantly decided she wanted to learn it, too.

One such occasion, when Éomer entered the solar and stood by the doorway, she did not notice him right away. And he rather enjoyed watching her talk quietly with one of her women, running her fingers over the weave she had made so far, and inspecting it here and there. The look on her face was sharp and focused as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and idly worried with her teeth at her lower lip. But the ladies were quite aware of his arrival, and at first they giggled and elbowed one another, until one of them, Éothain's younger sister Heagyth, finally spoke up.

"My lady, the King is here", she said in a clear voice, at which Lothíriel turned around quickly. Her eyes lit up and she shoved the shuttle into the hands of Lady Scýne, Heagyth's sister-in-law, who had been instructing the young queen.

"My lord", she greeted him, for she never used his name except in private, and walked straight through the room to him and tiptoed into a kiss, which was something she did both in private and public.

Behind her, there was some more giggling and elbowing. He wasn't sure he preferred it over their initial wonder at the fact that their Gondorian-born queen would not hold him at an arm's length when they had company.

"This is a nice surprise, though I wonder how you managed to escape from your study without Lord Ormar noticing?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

He let out a short barking laughter.

"You think there's any hope of me sneaking past him? I'm outside by his leave. I'm meeting my council in an hour or so, but I was thinking of taking a walk before that – and hoping you might join me, lady wife", he replied.

"I would love to join you. Let me just go and fetch my cloak", she said, kissed his cheek again, and hurried out without a word to her ladies, but judging by their amused smiles, they found this simply an endearing trait.

Éomer grinned, nodded his head at them, and went to follow his wife.

In the afternoons, he knew to look for her in the garden, digging and planting and weeding, her hands and apron stained by the soil. Somewhere she had got a wide-brimmed straw-hat to shield her face from sunlight – he suspected one of her ladies had made it for her. Cúran would usually be there too, sometimes napping in a sunny spot, or dashing after some tiny animal which had been disturbed by his mistress' shuffling. Coming upon this sight, one might not soon believe they were looking at the Queen of Rohan. Afterwards, she might come back inside smelling earthy, and there was wind in her hair and a light in her eyes, and he felt like he might choke with the love and wonder of her.

Still, he masked his reaction the best he could, and asked nonchalantly: "How's the garden?"

"It's coming along nicely, although there's still so much to do. A real garden takes years to establish, and even then it's never truly finished", she'd answer as she washed her stained hands with a bar of soap she had herself made in Dol Amroth just for this use. She threw him a bright smile, "I have been able to secure quite the prize from one of western ladies who was visiting Edoras."

"Oh? What is that?" asked Éomer as he went to pour some warm water over her soapy hands, and to offer a clean towel.

"She promised me three saplings of apple trees! Can you believe it? I was told this is a rare gift, because many of the great orchards of the West-Mark were burned down during the war. It will take time for them to grow, but one day we may sit in the shadow of our own apple tree. And even then it will be a wonder", she told him.

He raised an eyebrow at this news. He knew well the wanton destruction of many old orchards of the West-Mark, and the boundless grief of those who had tended them. It was a sore loss that would take years upon years to heal, and it was a long time before the famed apples of Westfold were seen again. That Lothíriel had secured herself a few of the precious remaining saplings was most unexpected.

"It is a rare gift indeed. She must really like you to have made such a promise", he commented.

"Well, it was not completely free. I promised to give her in turn some plants I brought with me from Gondor – and teach her how to tend to them. But I still think I got the better deal", she said cheerfully.

"Look at my wife, learning to barter with Eorlingas", he muttered warmly before lifting her in the air and kissing her. Lothíriel laughed before succumbing into the kiss, and her still damp fingers disappeared in his long hair. The smell of some southern flower was around them, but so was the smell of the wind and earth. It was inexplicably enticing, and it wasn't long after that he took her to bed.

No matter how dishevelled she might return from her garden or a walk to the plains, she knew how to appear according to her station when there was need: when they held court in Meduseld, attending appeals and hearing disputes, Lothíriel was always immaculate in her dress and manner. She may not be the greatest beauty that had ever walked in the Golden Hall, but she had a distinct grace and shine in her that always drew the eye – or at least his own eyes.

One such occasion came when Éomer invited some of the more well-known horse-breeders of the land, so that Lothíriel might choose one of them to keep and manage her own herd. Wearing a moss-green gown and her usual pearls, and the Queen's circlet on her brow, she moved among the wide-eyed herders – some of whom had never seen a lady of Gondor, or even less a queen.

"Your queen is blooming, my lord, if you do not mind me saying so."

These words were spoken by Lord Ormar, who had come to stand next to the young king.

He glanced at the man and smiled. Ormar did not squander his compliments, even though it was clear he had taken a liking to Lothíriel from the start.

"So am I forgiven for marrying a Gondorian?" Éomer asked half-seriously.

"In my eyes? You are, Sire. Not all are as easily persuaded, but the start is promising. If you and her keep up this thing, then even the stubborn neck has to bend", said the older man.

"How many stubborn necks do you think there are?"

Ormar was silent for a moment before answering.

"Not enough to be too concerned. The Queen seems to be her own best advocate so far", he replied.

Éomer smiled.

"I never thought you would like her so much."

"There is something about this young woman I've not seen before. Just as there is in you, Sire", said Lord Ormar in a low voice, touched his king's shoulder, and then went his way.

Éomer said no word, but he thought of his adviser's words for a long time.

The place she seemed to love the most in all of Edoras was, of course, her workshop. She was quick to fill the shelves and cover the desk with her tools, vials, pots, and many of the things he had first seen in Dol Amroth. It wasn't long before she also seemed to acquire a couple of eager apprentices from among the children of the King's Guard and other members of the royal household. Often they were seen running errands in Edoras, or following the Queen around, or gathered around her desk while she worked. One time Éomer came across her and three children near the market of Edoras. All four were squatting by what was apparently a plant she had never seen before, and her guards stood by wearing expressions that varied between wonder, amusement and interest; Alfwen's look was a mixture of these all. Lothíriel was drafting it in her notebook, and the children were talking quickly about what they knew about this plant; though she was still not fluent in Rohirric, she and the small ones apparently understood each other well enough.

Lothíriel herself said she was not so much a healer than a student of herb-lore, but in Rohan, where things were taught for practical purposes and no clear idea of such scholarship existed, there was not a similar understanding of the matter. Eventually, when she had been in Edoras for a few weeks and people learned more of the new queen, she began to receive some of them at her door asking for remedies and help in matters local healers may not have been helpful. Éomer made a point of not intervening and it was not needed as he soon observed; she received these requests with discretion and understanding, and helped where she could. Whatever she herself might say, it became clear that many of those people therefore thought of her at least as good as any of the local healers.

What he loved best were the nights after they had retired. Sometimes they just sat by the fire, and she had needlework in her lap, or some easy manual task with her herbs, and he would sit opposite her. He might be honing his sword or one of his daggers, and they would quietly talk about the day. For her sake, he'd even tolerate the cat, which was either lurking somewhere in the room, or sitting by her side on the armrest and glaring at him. When Lothíriel picked up the little beast and idly caressed him, the creature looked perfectly smug and self-satisfied as though after winning some contest. Éomer was loath to allow the cat into the King's rooms, but Lothíriel's wide, pleading eyes were his downfall.

Other nights there was less talking. In passion she was indeed his match, and the bold way she came to his arms never failed to ignite his desire. And he loved those slow, golden moments after lovemaking as they lay still half entangled, breathing each other in and out. Quiet words and tender little touches would be exchanged, until at last she drifted off to sleep. After watching her for a while he would join her in the land of dreams, and sleep with a peace he had rarely known in times before.

There were nights, especially near full moon, that Éomer might wake up in his or her bed, and find her gone. After a couple of such occasions he knew where to go look for her. In the garden he'd discover her walking slowly, bare-footed and wearing only a light shawl over her shift, and on her face was an expression of one dreaming while awake. What she thought of in those moments he could only guess, but she never resisted when he took her hand and walked her back inside. It was nearly summer now, so nights were not terribly cold; but he hoped she'd dress more warmly for her late walks once autumn came. Still, after these late walks, it was more often than not she would reach for him, perhaps climb to sit astride on his hips, and show him such things he had never expected from a well-bred lady of Gondor.

As for her sight, it was an ever-present part of their relationship. She spoke of things to come, perhaps not daily, but still fairly often. Sometimes it was small things, and sometimes of more importance. She would know the day's weather, or expect a visitor before no word of them had yet come, or tidings from Edoras and beyond. At times her look would be far off and fond, and Éomer guessed she was seeing something about her family in Dol Amroth. A few times she told him things that had a direct impact on his daily counsels with his advisers. He did his best to hide her part, but at times he could tell they wondered. Éothain in particular often gave him a quizzical look, though the captain did not speak the question aloud. Yet.

Éomer loved his lady very much, and he felt like every day, that love grew a little deeper. Life without her was now unthinkable. And though she never really said it, he was certain the sentiment was shared – so he guessed by the way her eyes lit up when he entered the room, and how her hand sought his own when standing next to him, or the often endearing and sometimes quite arousing way she would snuggle close to him at night. When one time he returned from some errand to Meduseld very late, and thought she was already asleep in the Queen's chambers, he decided not to disturb her. It was less than minutes after he had laid himself down that she tiptoed into his room, lifted the blanket and burrowed against his side with a soft little sigh.

She was his wife, his best friend, his helper, his lover, and so many other things. She did not seek for intrigue or power in the court, but her counsel was very much present in his commands and policies; whether Lothíriel had sought it or not, she had an influence in the royal court few could match. And he knew people were noticing this, too.

* * *

An evening came, some three weeks after the wedding, that Éomer upon returning to Meduseld from some errand noticed Lothíriel was more quiet and distracted than usual. She still directed the dinner in the hall, and at times exchanged a few words with Leofrun about this or that issue, but often her expression grew remote and thoughtful. She didn't really contribute to any conversation he tried to make, though she still answered straight questions.

When she had eaten – which she had done barely and quickly – she touched his hand, and asked, "Do you mind if I retire already? I was thinking of taking a hot bath."

"Go ahead, love", Éomer replied, picked up her hand and kissed it. His wife smiled before she made his way out of the hall, so lightly that one might think her feet barely touched the ground. He watched her retreating back and wondered.

So it was a little while later that he made his way to Alfwen, Lothíriel's own guard. Perhaps the shieldmaiden had some idea of what was bothering the Queen. Of course, he meant to talk about it with his wife, but she was probably still in her bath and Alfwen might have noticed something essential that Lothíriel herself wouldn't think to mention.

Erkenbrand's daughter was seated near the dais, as was her due, and she had just finished eating. In her hand she had a tankard of ale she was slowly nursing, but she put it aside when Éomer approached, and she stood up as quickly as any young person still new to serving in the royal courts of Edoras.

"Sire", she greeted him, making a strange gesture that was between a curtsy and a bow. He hid his smile, knowing that living as a shieldmaiden must be confusing at times.

"Alfwen", he said, nodding at her. "May I bother you for a word?"

"Of course, my lord", she said readily, and followed him as he lead the way to a bit more private spot at the left side of the dais. There Éomer turned to look at Alfwen.

"I know you have the trust of both myself and my queen, and so I will speak plainly; for I think you will answer clearly and truly", he began and watched her face closely. "Tonight, I thought my lady wife was unusually quiet and distracted. I wonder, why might this be? Has something happened to upset her?"

Alfwen looked troubled. First she glanced about them, like she was making sure they weren't listened to by anyone. Then she took a deep breath.

"There was an incident earlier today", she said slowly. "The Queen had wanted to go outside the city, to walk by Snowbourn and look for the plants that grow there by the river. We were coming back to Meduseld when one local man saw us. He was a little drunk, but it doesn't excuse him, of course; he made a lewd gesture at the Queen and told her she didn't belong here – that she wasn't one of us. I wanted to apprehend the man, but she forbade it. She just..."

"She what?" asked Éomer, almost shaking in anger at the way his lady had been disrespected. He would find this man, and he would make the pig know the full price of insulting the wife of Éomer King.

But Alfwen's expression was peculiar, for now there was some wonder on her features.

"The Queen didn't seem to mind. She just looked at this man, and then asked him why he wasn't with his wife. She told him drinking and insulting people he didn't know wouldn't ease the pain of losing his daughter. Yet I do not know whether it was her look or her words that impacted him", Alfwen said. She was shaking her head, like all this went too far beyond her understanding.

As for Éomer, his anger now cooled. Dear, far-sighted Lothíriel. Of course she wouldn't let insults cloud her eyes.

"And what did the man do then?" he asked Alfwen.

"He was too taken aback to answer anything, Sire, as were most of the others who saw this moment. He just slunk away, I would say. Then the Queen told us to move again, and so we came back to Meduseld. But she has been quiet ever since", she replied.

"Thank you, Alfwen. You have done well in telling me this", he said and touched her shoulder briefly.

"Sire, if I may ask – how did the Queen know about that man – and his daughter? How does she know so many things?" Alfwen asked just as he was about to go.

Éomer sighed. Here was yet another asking the same question.

"That is a question you must take up with the Queen, Alfwen", he answered simply. He nodded at the shieldmaiden, turned and made his way to the royal chambers.

How to speak of this with Lothíriel? Did she want him to approve of her conduct, and let alone the man who had insulted her? What _did_ he want to do? Even without being there himself, he had a feeling that Lothíriel had turned the insult against the offender. Looking for this man and punishing him may be both useless and seen as unusually cruel, if he was already struggling with the loss of a child. His own desire for retribution had died with that knowledge, and he had a feeling that the people of Edoras felt the same.

What a wife he had. She had seen this man's trouble right away, no long and painful questionings needed. She had resolved the issue with a look and a few words.

Éomer stepped inside the royal chambers, which were warmly lit by candles and a low fire. He loosened the lacings of his tunic, pulled it over his head, and then tossed aside on a chair. Was Lothíriel still in a bath? He wasn't going to disturb her while she was washing, no matter how much he wanted to talk to her.

He stepped inside his bedchamber, and then froze right there at the doorway.

There she was in the centre of his bed, wearing nothing but the shift she had worn the very night of their wedding, and her hair was tumbling freely down her shoulders; he never tired of seeing her hair like this. Fire's light danced on her skin and her eyes seemed to hold a promise of unthinkable things. At once, he felt very uncomfortable inside his trousers.

She looked at him, and he at her, and before he could commit to any clear-headed thought of fighting back his desires, she was already up. She came to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her hips against his. When she did that little rubbing motion, he was lost.

It seemed to him that a long time passed where there was just their bodies, and the heat and the need and the desperation. He could smell lavender in her hair and her skin, and some oil he didn't recognise, and as ever, he felt all his life he had been lost until finding her. Her fingers against his skin held as tightly as he held at her, and she gave him no mercy. It was a long, fierce tumble in the bed and at the end, he felt quite spent.

But it was in those slow moments after lovemaking that he recalled his intent. He had wanted to talk to her. On the other hand, he wanted to hear whatever was troubling her from her own mouth. So, after some time, when they had rested awhile and her head was still against his chest, he spoke at last.

"You seemed distracted tonight. I wondered if something's the matter."

"I've just been thinking", she replied at length in a low voice. "Do you think a woman should always love and respect her husband?"

Éomer was silent for a while. He wasn't certain of what he had expected her to answer, but this was not it. He tried to understand it in connection to what Alfwen had said, as some kind of a criticism on the man who had insulted her today. But it didn't seem likely. A doubt crept on him: was her disquietude even for the reason he and Alfwen thought? Maybe it was not so. Lothíriel did not always think the same way as others, and this could well be such an occasion.

"A woman will do as she will, this I know. I hope that she could love and respect her husband; it will surely make things easier. But I also know lives and marriages can be troubled and complicated, even if ours isn't", he answered slowly as he ran one hand against her arm. Just in case, he added, "I do hope I haven't given you any reason to think otherwise."

"No, no. It's not you that I'm talking about", she replied, holding him a bit tighter for a moment. "You know people sometimes come to me, asking for help when they feel like they have no other options. There was a lady, and she made me wonder. But I myself have such a lovely husband, I do not know if I can help her."

Hearing these words, he relaxed once more. Not that in his heart he had doubted her, but it was nice to hear her say it.

"If anyone can answer such a question, I think you are that person", he said and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"Hmm. It may be so. But I still wonder what you would tell her", said Lothíriel, and she raised her head to look at him with wide, serious eyes.

He met that gaze, and was quiet for a moment. At length he replied.

"No woman needs to love or respect a man who doesn't make an effort to earn it. I hope you will remind me, if I ever fail in it", he told her solemnly.

She met his gaze, steady and grave. Then she raised herself to kiss him. It was a slow, quiet one, before she settled against his chest again. For some time, they were quiet again.

"You are a good man, Éomer _galu_", she muttered against his chest, her voice half disappearing against his skin.

"What's that?" he asked; there was a word in her speech he had not recognised.

Lothíriel just hemmed sleepily, and said no more.

_To be continued. _

* * *

**A/N: **Here is a new chapter! I hope you all liked it.

While plotting this one, I meant to include certain events I've been eager to get to, but eventually realised it wasn't going to work out yet. The biggest reason is I first wanted to show a bit of their life together, and how Lothíriel is settling down in her new role. But I am eager to get to show you the next chapter, so let's hope I can write and complete it soon enough!

I must admit at the moment I'm not certain of how long this story will be, but I suspect it will be closer to 250k than 200k. I guess it all depends on how vigorously my muse keeps on going for this story. But just to let you know - we're nowhere finished yet!

_Galu_ is Sindarin and means something like "blessedness, good fortune". So, the reason Lothíriel uses that word is because she's foreseeing his epithet _Éadig,_ the Blessed.

I hope you all remain safe and sound. I know it's been a long year for us all, but it's all the more reason not to give up the precautions now. To my American readers, hopefully you'll be able to enjoy Thanksgiving despite the current situation!

As always, I'm eager to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Guest - **Thank you! Glad to hear the story has such quality. :)

**EStrunk -** Yes, they certainly have a very good relationship between them, and a promise of it growing even stronger. But what sort of trouble there may be, we'll see!

**sai19 - **Thanks! It's a bit of small fun detail. I can't see Éomer being a big cat person, so I was very much amused by the idea of him having to put up with one on a regular basis. :D

**Boramir - **Interesting thoughts once again! You are quite correct in your assessment of what Lothíriel makes of the workshop. It's a very tangible gesture of her new husband's support and understanding, and it's enormously important to her.

Éomer has definitely been quite distracted with his new wife, but he hasn't forgotten about Eadwig. Still, there aren't easy ways of dealing with the man while he's not doing anything obviously treasonous. But as seen in this chapter, he's taking certain steps to keep tabs on Eadwig and recruiting Elfhelm in this task. On the other hand, he does feel uneasy about it. This kind of intrigue reminds him too much of Wormtongue's era.

**Simplegurl4u - **Yes, he has a very strong need for making sure she's safe and secure even if he's not with her anymore.

We'll see what happens with them and Eadwig!

**Catspector - **That it very much is! Still, this new life takes some getting used to. And you are right - the greatest menace near Éomer at the moment is indeed the cat Cúran! :D

**sailor68 - **Glad you liked it!

**xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - **Thank you!

**Jo - **Thanks! Happy to hear you adore Cúran. I must admit, I do too!

**Wondereye - **It happens when and if it happens!

**Guest -** I work as much and fast as I can, but stories take their time.


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